Chapter 19: Terms and Resolve

The phone buzzed again in Ethan's hand.

Crestview Bank & Trust.

The world seemed to hold its breath. Around him, the arcade had gone still. Amanda's soda fizzed faintly. Trevor stopped mid-sentence. Even the machines seemed quieter, as if sensing the moment.

Ethan answered.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Reeves, this is Carol Jennings from Crestview Bank. Do you have a moment?"

His throat tightened. "Y-Yeah. I do."

There was a pause.

Then her voice came through—clear, formal, and just a little warmer than before.

"We've completed our review. After careful consideration of your presentation, the business records, and the community support you submitted… I'm pleased to inform you that the bank has approved your proposal."

Ethan blinked.

"I—wait—really?"

"Yes," Carol said. "We believe Level Up Arcade has demonstrated viability, community engagement, and significant growth potential. Therefore, we're offering you a formal restructuring agreement."

Ethan leaned back, a long breath of disbelief and relief slipping out of him. His hand trembled, heart racing.

Amanda let out a cheer. "He did it!"

Kaylee jumped out of the beanbag.

Trevor fist-pumped the air.

Even James cracked a huge grin.

Ethan couldn't help it. He laughed—loud, bright, unrestrained.

"I—I don't know what to say."

Carol chuckled softly. "You can say 'thank you' by reading the agreement carefully. There are conditions."

Right.

Reality returned.

"Okay. Yeah. Let's go over them."

The Fine Print

Carol's tone shifted back to business.

"First, you'll be placed on a restructured payment plan, effective immediately. The debt owed on the property will be divided into manageable quarterly payments over the next five years. That includes interest."

Ethan nodded, already mentally calculating.

"Second," she continued, "you must maintain regular documentation—monthly financial reports, customer traffic summaries, and proof of continued operation. These will be reviewed each quarter."

"Got it."

"Third, you must not allow the arcade to fall below a certain performance threshold. If revenue drops significantly or if the business is inactive for more than sixty consecutive days, the bank retains the right to reassess the agreement."

That one hit a little harder—but it made sense.

"Understood," Ethan said.

"And finally," Carol added, "should you wish to expand the business or restructure again, you'll need to submit a revised plan and financial forecast at least sixty days prior."

There was a pause.

"I know that's a lot," she said, "but we believe in being transparent."

"No, it's fair," Ethan said honestly. "It gives me a shot. That's all I wanted."

There was a moment of silence on her end—maybe a rare lapse in her professional wall.

"Good luck, Mr. Reeves. You've done something special here."

And then the call ended.

After the Call

Ethan just stood there, holding the phone to his ear, staring blankly at the machines.

The others circled him, still smiling, still buzzing.

"Dude," Trevor said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You did it."

Amanda grinned. "Bank-approved. You're legit now."

Kaylee held up her phone. "Can we throw a party? Stream it? 'Arcade Saves the City' sounds like a good headline."

James added, "I'll build a mini-website. Or an app. We'll make it official."

Ethan smiled at them—truly smiled—but he could feel the weight behind his eyes. Not sadness. Not even stress.

Just everything.

The relief, the responsibility, the realization.

He had done it.

But now?

Now he had to keep doing it.

He walked behind the counter, sat down slowly, and set the phone down beside him.

"Thanks, guys," he said quietly. "Really. For everything."

"Anytime," Amanda said, her voice softening.

They gave him space, sensing the moment. The team spread out—Trevor inspecting a joystick, Kaylee sliding a token into DDR, James already sketching wireframes for a loyalty app.

Ethan let his shoulders relax.

Then he pulled open the small drawer beneath the counter.

Inside, tucked carefully between a spare scorecard and a receipt pad, was a simple leather card.

Victor Mallory.

No title. Just a number.

Ethan turned it over in his hand.

Victor had told him:

"You've built something real. But if you want it to last—you'll need structure."

He thought back to Carol's voice, calm and firm as she'd listed the requirements. The deadlines. The expectations.

This wasn't just a hobby anymore.

He couldn't fly by feel forever.

If Level Up Arcade was going to last—really last—he needed help.

Someone who'd seen what it took to turn something from a spark into a legacy.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—

"Victor Mallory," the voice answered, still clear and steady.

"Hi. It's Ethan. From the arcade."

"I remember. I saw the tournament clip you posted. That DDR finale was something else."

Ethan smiled despite himself.

"I, uh… I just got the bank's approval. Payment plan, oversight, the whole deal. I wanted to say thanks—your advice helped."

"I'm glad," Victor said. "So. What's next?"

Ethan took a breath.

"I want to make this work. Not just for now. For the long haul. But I don't know everything. And I can't afford to learn all of it the hard way."

"I see," Victor said.

"I was wondering… if you'd be willing to meet sometime. Maybe talk through some of the bigger business stuff? Structuring things. Planning. Systems. I'll buy the coffee."

There was a pause on the line.

Then Victor said, "Tell you what. I'll come by the arcade tomorrow afternoon. We'll talk. I want to see how far you've come. And where you're going."

Ethan grinned. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good. You've got something worth building, Ethan. Let's make sure it stands."

The call ended.

Ethan set the phone down and looked around.

The machines blinked and pulsed. Customers were laughing again. The Mortal Kombat attract mode roared from across the room.

He stood up, took a deep breath, and walked out onto the floor.

It was time to build something that could last.