THE YOUNG PERSON'S GUIDE TO PROFESSIONAL SUCCESS

At breakfast on Friday, as Gerald Semmes finished his Nature’s Path Organic cereal and washed his bowl in the sink, he received a call from an unknown number and learned from the polite and soft-spoken representative on the line that his “life” as a Customer Support Specialist — married, 35 years old, childless, and college-educated — had traded on the market for $1.2 million and come into the possession of Trey Nichols, a tech-bro investor from the Bay Area. It was an announcement that Gerald had enthusiastically anticipated for six months. He was to be a wealthy man, and he owed all of his success to the FIRE movement — Financial Independence Retire Early — and to the bloggers who had taught him tips and tricks for securing a substantial fortune with minimal effort. It was the American Dream in action: money for nothing: cha-ching.

For four decades — since the Reagan era at least — the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave had been collapsing under the weight of resurgent inequality. It was an uncertain world of dwindling opportunity, and in response an enterprising young person needed to take drastic and unprecedented action to ensure professional success. To that end, a somewhat-novel state-of-the-art financial product promising big returns at virtually no risk was concocted by Wall Street fundsmiths and marketed to investors as a profitable asset class, as well as a philanthropic gesture to the young and a patriotic boost for the American workforce. The concept was simple: the sale of a “life” on the market to investors funding and profiting off its “success.”

Now, it was not unreasonable to question the wisdom of these new investment vehicles, but for someone like Gerald, the economic inequality and political dysfunction of 21st-century America were not just matters of academic debate and historical analysis, but rather a set of conditions with which he wrestled daily. An example: in the past year, Gerald and his wife, Vanessa Drummond-Semmes — both residents of Manhattan — had paid over $7,000 in federal, state, and city taxes (on a combined income of approximately $154k), while billionaires paid significantly less than should have been justified by their wealth. In addition, the declining stock market and the spread of high prices had done exceptional damage to Gerald’s accounts, and after paying for groceries, rent, and utilities, not to mention a couple of restaurant meals each week, a 12-day vacation to Greece, and a half-dozen shows on Broadway, Gerald realized in a bit of a panic that he had barely $400 each month to contribute to his 401k, $1000 for his purchase-a-house fund, and $1500, give or take, for what he termed his “entertainment budget.” In short, the circumstances of the nation’s economic malaise had forced Gerald to pinch pennies and to tighten his belt, and, like many other Americans lurching precariously from paycheck to paycheck, he lamented the sad inadequacy of his financial station and dreamed of bigger things.

And so it had seemed to Gerald that financial stability in America today was in constant flux, and that a failure to participate in these exciting new investments risked missing out on a lucrative opportunity to expand one’s wealth. Vanessa, too, had agreed with this reasoning, and when Gerald had chatted with her about placing his “life” with STYX Trading, Ltd., she had first researched the company and then advised him on methods of promoting his “life” online to raise its value. She was an influencer, after all — or aspired to be — and unlike Gerald she understood and embraced the power of social media. All the same, he was hesitant in the beginning, and it took some convincing, but pretty soon Gerald had updated his old college Facebook account and his LinkedIn and had expanded his online presence to include X, Snapchat, Instagram, and even TikTok. Vanessa was pleased with his efforts and, although Gerald’s posts were irregular to a fault, and his content a little embarrassing, she was still delighted when his X account reached 150 followers and shocked beyond belief when one of his funny political memes went viral and was liked by several prominent journalists, including a semi-famous podcaster at the New York Times. Even Gerald’s friends and family began to notice. In September, his “life” traded for $300k, but still Gerald did not get his hopes up. By Election Day, however, which was also the week of his wife’s birthday, his “life” had risen even more and increased its value to somewhere in the vicinity of $750k, give or take a grand, and it was at this time that the forecasts Gerald received from his financial consultants began to advise against sudden or unexpected changes to his account, and stressed the necessity of riding this wave out to its most profitable extent. Not only that, but these bullish projections had boosted Gerald’s confidence: he was running every day now and lifting weights, and he was surprised to discover his newfound attractiveness to the opposite sex, with younger women propositioning him regularly on his secret Tinder account.

And yet, in spite of these self-evident thrills, Gerald understood that his “life” for Trey Nichols was but a number in a spreadsheet, and so, once he had finished his chat with the STYX representative — and before he had even had the wherewithal to scheme or to imagine a use for his newfound wealth — Gerald paused and sat in his recliner and pondered the consequences of this purchase of his “life.” He was in the process of analyzing memories and recollecting key moments from his childhood, when suddenly he heard the ding of the elevator, the tromp-tromp of footsteps in the hall, and the doorbell’s buzz. In a hurry, Gerald leapt up from his recliner and glanced through his peephole. There was a man in a crisp uniform, looking like an exterminator or a cable technician, except in his hands instead of a toolbag he carried a large cardboard check inscribed in Sharpie for $1.2 million. He could tell from the tag on the man’s shirt that his name was JC Jones, and as Gerald opened the door, he noticed that Mr. Jones was an STYX employee.

All right, let’s make this transaction, said Mr. Jones. Ain’t got all day, buddy. Here it is.

He pushed the cardboard check into Gerald’s hands and, without asking permission or offering an explanation, he stomped into the kitchen in his heavy boots and, inscribing it all in his notes, began a survey of the property and a brief delineation of the conditions of Gerald’s “life.” He opened cabinets, closets, the refrigerator door, and when he found the bathroom, he peeked inside, didn’t knock. A shriek came from the shower: Vanessa.

Look, lady, I’m doing my job here, exclaimed Mr. Jones. Cut me some slack, OK? Jeez.

Gradually, it began to dawn on Gerald that this unexpected visit from a STYX employee at 8:15 a.m. on a workday must necessarily disrupt his morning routine and would most likely prevent him from catching up on his email and dressing for the day’s Zoom calls with his many clients. And yet, although Gerald tried on several occasions to broach the subject, Mr. Jones, in his efforts to study all aspects of the purchased “life,” seemed oblivious to interruption and deaf to reason. He was terribly sorry, of course, but he had his orders and could not return at a more convenient hour. Besides, said Mr. Jones, as he scrutinized Gerald’s taxes and medical records, why in the hell do you care about a Zoom call? You got yourself a check for $1.2 million. $1.2!

Gerald repeated the number. It had to be a dream, a TV show prank, a scam. He was too nervous to keep the cardboard check and tried passing it back, but Mr. Jones brushed him off. After all, Mr. Jones had come to deliver $1.2 million in exchange for a “life,” and deliver it he had. There was no argument: a deal was a deal: the money was Gerald’s, fair and square: all his.

At last, Gerald relented and called in sick from his job, as he and Vanessa huddled together in the bedroom and discussed the implications of this “deal” presented by Mr. Jones. Apparently, Trey Nichols with his business acumen had decided after extensive review of his recent purchase that the “life” of Gerald Semmes would increase its earning potential if only the current “Gerald” could be replaced with an alternative version. To that end, Mr. Jones had been commissioned to facilitate a transition, and as soon as he completed his assessment of the premises, he would summon to the apartment “Gerald Update 2.6” and introduce the new model to its permanent home. It would occur seamlessly and without any drama, a simple switcheroo.

But just think, said Vanessa, as she delved into the STYX information packet provided by Mr. Jones, if all the calculations presented in here are correct, well then, Gerald, you’re looking at an increase in value of almost 18%. That’s an extraordinary jump in the significance of your “life.” It’s like the difference between a Mexican passport and an American one, or a micro influencer and a mid-tier: it would be insane to throw this opportunity away: it would be wrong!

Yeah, but Vanessa, said Gerald, whispering so that Mr. Jones wouldn’t hear him, what if I don’t want to change places with this “Gerald Update”? What if I want to stay? It is my “life.”

Look, Gerald, said Vanessa, we can’t be sentimental. I know some couples couldn’t stomach a separation like this, but you and I are different: we’re above that, we’re sophisticated, and we know that there are more important things for a relationship than physical proximity.

Yeah, but Vanessa, said Gerald, his voice increasingly high-pitched and a little bit shaky, I don’t know if I can handle a lifetime of separation from everything in my “life.” I mean, I’m Gerald Semmes: it’s my identity, you know? And even with a check for $1.2 million . . . I just —

Mr. Jones suddenly interrupted the conversation and reminded Gerald of his limited time.

Look, buddy, said Mr. Jones, I understand your predicament, your feelings and all that, but as you know I gots me a job to do on behalf of STYX and the ownership of this “life,” so let me just read you this document now, as I’m required to do, and we’ll get this show on the road.

Mr. Jones tapped his phone, scrolled with a finger, and read aloud the STYX boilerplate:

All right, as is clearly documented herein, a transmission of funds has occurred and been here undersigned; therefore, the vacation of the premises by one, Gerald Semmes — signatory — in preference for “Gerald Update 2.6,” is henceforth requested. Signatory should in fulfillment of said contract pack a bag of essential belongings totalling not more than $200 in value, with remainder, as per agreement, continuing as property of STYX, including signatory’s financial accounts bearing “Gerald Semmes” as primary account-holder. It is anticipated that the transfer of $1.2 million be sufficient to provide signatory with compensatory accommodation, sustenance, etc., and that all obligations of STYX to signatory be terminated forthwith. In sum, STYX, Ltd., thanks signatory for profitable partnership, etc. and wishes him the best in all future endeavors.

From outside in the hall the elevator dinged again as Mr. Jones concluded his statement.

That’ll be the “Gerald Update,” he said. Told him to be here by 9:00 on the dot. He’s good about his time, this one — always prompt — and STYX sure is proud to bring him on in.

Of all the moments in Gerald’s “life,” this one was the most heartbreaking, but also inevitable. He gathered into his backpack a few sets of clothes, as well as a couple of snacks, his toothbrush, a blanket and a pillow, and a bottle of the One A Day Men’s Multivitamins he had been taking for two years. At times, as he packed, he would lose himself in the bustle of activity, and his thoughts would return unbidden to his “life” and to the concerns that once had occupied him. Vanessa, though, after three long years of marriage was incredibly adept at holding her husband to task and, knowing his tendencies, refused to permit him to mope or to daydream, to dawdle or to take a short break. It was time, instead, for goodbyes, for lingering hugs, for a kiss.

Vanessa, said Gerald, I’m afraid I have taken all of this for granted. I’m going to miss you so much. I’m going to miss my “life.” Do I have to go? Are you sure I have to do this? Maybe I made a mistake, maybe I shouldn’t have cared so much about professional success, maybe I —

But Vanessa had already schlepped her husband’s backpack into the hall and left it there.

Oh, Gerald, she said, you know you have to be grateful. Aren’t you proud to have a wife like me, a woman who refuses to tie you down and only wants what’s best for your “life”? Most wives today, they couldn’t handle it, could they? They couldn’t be so accepting, so broad-minded, they couldn’t allow you your freedom or the privacy to be your best self: they would cling to you.

And then, sufficiently martyred, she posed for a sad girl selfie and posted it on Instagram.

All right, buddy, here we go, said Mr. Jones, ushering Gerald out the door. Say goodbye!

Bye, Vanessa! said Gerald, as he clasped his cardboard check and trudged into the hall to claim his bag on the way to the elevator. And goodbye to you, too, you old Gerald Semmes! Bye!

He was on his own now, free and unencumbered, but discomfited by sudden anonymity. He had no grasp anymore of who he was, and would dwell in insecurity for as long as he “lived.”

John Cody Bennett is an English and World History teacher at The Birch Wathen Lenox School in New York City, a graduate of Sewanee: the University of the South, and a Fulbright scholar from Louisiana. He has published fiction in Across the Margin, Five on the Fifth, The Militant Grammarian, and others, and is currently pursuing a Master’s in History at the City College of New York.