“That investment is a long shot, you know.” The broker frowned across the table at Freida. “It won’t pay out for decades, maybe even longer. Now if you want something that’ll give you some money to play with-”
“Decades is fine.” Frieda knew what the broker was seeing – a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, who was going to get bored with this whole thing too quickly and demand greater returns in the short term.
She also knew everything he wasn’t seeing.
“Well, how about we split the difference? You put half into something like this, the other half into, say-”
“If you’re not willing to make the investments I’m interested in, I can find another brokerage firm. I don’t need money next week. I want this money to be growing for my posterity.”
She snipped the words off shortly. She never was good at acting the age her face said she might be. Then again, she never was good at patience, either – in anything except this.
Except her money.
“Well, if you’re sure. I just have this contract-”
She could stand having the conversation once every hundred years, could stand the ten or twenty years of tight money for each century.
She could handle the long game for the payouts that were coming.
Written to August 26th’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt and 217 words long.