Prologue: Never Count your money, while sitting at the table:

I imagine the halls of the White House have echoed with the refrain “There must be more money” ever since the days of John Adams. Over time, through the creation of a banking system built on speculation—speculation tenuously tied to real capital (human labor, tangible goods, and fleeting services)—and its global adoption, the refrain has changed. In the last eighty years, I imagine those halls whispering still. First a murmur, then a fever pitch, shrieking through booms and busts, and finally subsiding again to a whisper. But now, with different words: “There will never be enough money.”
The whisper accelerates. The volume rises exponentially. It’s been building ever since a super meth-addicted John Fitzgerald Kennedy nearly cartwheeled us into Armageddon. After stepping back from the brink of nuclear annihilation, America turned its gaze toward the marketplace. We sought to secure our goods and services—not for survival, but to stop communism. Ironically, the communism practiced globally mirrored state-run capitalism, which is the practice our current WASP in chief, the salve to the white master who feels they there are only masters or victims. While he ensures the continued power of his people and secures our weapons are only loyal to his world order. They have finally figured it out: There will NEVER be enough money.
Let’s face it: the American Republic is racist. Our founding fathers imported the class structures that once caused untold suffering in the United Kingdom and made it based on a “race” a psuedo scientific term with no biological basis. What they didn’t realize is that the caste system they embraced was a corrupted heir to the Roman order. Like most conquered peoples, the only way to make sense of brutal defeat—especially at the hands of Roman legions—was to adopt their conqueror’s beliefs. Not necessarily the gods, but the idea that power was hereditary. That living in a senator’s home made one’s sons inherently more suited to rule.
Of course, if you’ve read history, you know how that played out. Octavius, adopted son of Julius, gave the empire stability—but he proved the exception. Related but did not spring from the largest cock in the Roman henhouse. The Caesars who inherited power without earning it were invariably insane. The longer dynasties leaned on inherited privilege, the more they rotted from the inside. Madness became hereditary.
And here we are. We’ve built a system where billionaires do whatever they want, whenever they want. The banks, flush with imaginary capital, trade on future labor not yet performed. Debt itself has become a commodity—betting chips in a game whose table grows more unstable by the day. Money has become a wager on the hypothetical future. Human capital purchasing hypothetical goods. Hypothetical services rendered by hypothetical workers under hypothetical conditions.
Anyone with half a brain (like Elon Musk) can see it’s a pyramid. And while the tip gleams like gold, the base is crumbling.
Then came COVID. A plague not just of lungs and immune systems, but of illusions. For a moment, the powerful glimpsed the truth: the age of money might be ending. And still the game continues. Still the chips stack. Still the bluff holds.
This is not just an economic treatise. This is a tournament. The Last World Series of Poker—with nations, billionaires, oil barons, and technocrats gathering at the global table. Some bet blood. Others bet futures. But no one is sure the dealer’s even real.