Chapter 18: The Waiting Game

It had been twenty-two hours since Ethan stepped out of Crestview Bank & Trust.

Not that he was counting.

He'd woken up early, showered, dressed, unlocked the arcade right on time—and then immediately started pacing.

The machines hummed around him, idle and patient. The Time Crisis cabinet ran its attract loop like always. The neon "OPEN" sign flickered in the front window. But Ethan couldn't settle.

He'd already straightened the counter twice.

Adjusted the flyers.

Checked the token machine.

Double-checked the repair bin, even though he hadn't opened a machine since Tuesday night.

The arcade didn't need anything from him right now.

And that's what made it worse.

Jitters in the Joystick Jungle

"Dude. Sit down before you wear a hole in the floor."

Amanda leaned over the counter, sipping a soda and watching Ethan pace back and forth between Asteroids and Donkey Kong like he was trying to summon the answer through motion.

Ethan stopped, rubbed his face, and blew out a long breath. "I can't. I need to do something. I don't know how long it takes them to decide. Could be hours. Could be days."

James, seated at a side table reviewing tournament highlight clips, looked up. "They wouldn't schedule a meeting if they weren't taking it seriously. That's a good sign."

"Or a formality," Ethan muttered, running a hand through his hair. "They say all the right things, nod at the testimonials, smile at the numbers… and then send the denial in a clean little envelope."

Trevor, casually inspecting a new batch of buttons that had arrived in the mail, added, "Hey. We've got your back, man. No matter what."

Ethan tried to smile—but his chest was tight, his stomach unsettled. It was one thing to build something. Another to prove to strangers that it was worth keeping.

He stared at the front door, half-expecting a bank rep to walk through at any moment, briefcase in hand, ready to deliver a yes—or no.

Instead, the door chimed—and in came Kaylee, bright teal headphones around her neck and a grin on her face.

"Hey!" she called. "Any news?"

Ethan shook his head. "Not yet."

She walked up and gave him a reassuring punch on the arm. "Don't stress. You've got half the internet rooting for you. I keep seeing tournament clips all over my feed. Someone even edited me to look like I was on fire."

Amanda leaned over. "Wait, literally on fire?"

"Yep. Photoshop flames and everything."

Kaylee grinned and added, "You're trending in the retro gaming subreddit. That's gotta count for something."

Ethan chuckled weakly. "Let's hope the bank follows Reddit."

The others laughed. Even Ethan allowed himself a half-smile. But it didn't last.

The tension never fully left his shoulders. Not until he knew.

Meanwhile... At Crestview Bank & Trust

Behind a closed-door conference room, far removed from glowing screens and chiptune melodies, a small group of bank representatives sat around a polished table.

Carol Jennings—sharp, composed, practical—flipped open a folder labeled:

"908 Maple Ave. – Level Up Arcade – Ownership: Ethan Reeves"

She glanced around the table, addressing the two colleagues with her. One, a man in his 50s with salt-and-pepper hair and a finance-first mindset. The other, a younger analyst who had pulled Ethan's social metrics after the meeting.

"I wanted us to review this together before we finalize a recommendation," Carol said.

The older man, Thomas, leaned back. "An arcade is a sentimental investment. Not typically viable. I was surprised you brought it to committee."

"I was too," Carol said. "But this case isn't typical."

The younger analyst tapped a tablet. "We ran the social media impact numbers from the last 30 days. Level Up Arcade's posts have over 80,000 impressions across platforms. Their tournament recap video got reposted by three mid-tier influencers, and user reviews are consistently five stars."

He turned the tablet around. A slow-motion clip of Mortal Kombat II played—Tyler landing his final combo, crowd erupting, tournament banners in the background.

Carol passed over a printed packet.

"He submitted not only financial breakdowns and projections, but also dozens of testimonials from players and families. He included handwritten notes, event footage, even development plans for growth. It was… one of the most human presentations I've reviewed."

Thomas raised a skeptical brow. "Is it profitable?"

Carol nodded. "Barely. But growing. He's done more in two months than the business did in the last two years before it closed. That's not just income—it's momentum."

The analyst added, "And if we foreclose on the building, we're likely to lose community goodwill. The location's not prime for redevelopment. But the business has turned the property into a high-traffic space again."

Thomas flipped through the financials, then paused on a customer quote that read:

"This arcade gave me a place to play with my daughter. That's worth more than most places in this city."

He leaned back again.

"I'll admit," he said. "It's rare we see someone this young take such personal ownership. And rarer still that it resonates this much with the community."

Carol closed the folder gently.

"He's not asking for a bailout. Just time. A payment plan. A chance to build something lasting."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Carol said, "So. Let's vote."

Back at the Arcade

Evening crept into the arcade, the sun casting long shadows across the carpet as the last few regulars wandered in for a game or two before dinner.

Ethan sat behind the counter, chewing nervously on the cap of his pen, notebook open but untouched. The others lingered nearby, trying to keep things casual but glancing his way every few minutes.

The air felt heavy with waiting.

Trevor cleared his throat. "You know, worst-case scenario? We rally the whole city. Fundraiser. Indie arcade fans love a cause."

Amanda nodded. "We get a food truck. Live music. I'll host a rematch tournament."

"Crowdfund it," James added. "Go viral again. We've got footage for days."

Kaylee, lounging in a beanbag by the front window, chimed in, "Yeah. You're basically a retro legend now."

Ethan gave them a soft smile.

He didn't have the words to say how much their support meant. How they made this place more than tokens and cabinets.

The phone on the counter buzzed.

Everyone stopped.

Ethan stared at it, heart suddenly loud in his ears.

Caller ID: Crestview Bank & Trust

His fingers trembled slightly as he picked it up.

He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and answered.

"Hello?"