of them. Even with his five mil now diversified in a half-dozen mutuals, he was being careful with his money. He had already decided, not without some regret, to stick it out in his crummy closet of an apartment for a couple more years. Even several mil was not quite enough to live the way he wanted to live in Hong Kong–the place was outrageously expensive, almost as expensive as the diamonds its night sky suggested. Better, he figured, to save his money. Or rather, better still to invest, so he'd never have to do this kind of gig again.
His new truck, the one he'd invented for the trip up the Himalayas with its unorthodox ceramic kerosene-powered engines, had been a huge success. He'd already gotten two more orders for trucks with similar specs, one for the Andes mountains and another for the Alps. There were other opportunities out there too. He could already see that, to really exploit the potential he'd uncovered, he'd need working capital. That prize money was really going to come in handy; it would all go back into the business.
Well,