We always think we know who our friends are.

I mean, hell, I know my best friend, Martin, for the better part of two decades.

After what I saw today, though, I know that I had no clue who we really was.

What it was capable of.

I started working in his company about a year ago.

Before that, I'd been working here in there as a freelancer, barely escaping by, as a university

dropout.

I didn't have much of a choice.

Did I try anything in the hopes of making it big, but whatever I did, things never took

off.

The day I turned 30, I was still living in the same crappy, one-room apartment, still eating

ramen noodles for dinner five times a week.

I knew I needed to re-evaluate my life.

It was on a night out with Martin after a half dozen beers that I started to lament about

my situation.

See, he listened.

And once I was done, he offered me a job at his trading company.

After his dad had retired, he'd taken over the family business and reconstructed it from

scratch.

He was starting to earn some real money, and he said that he could use a few helping hands.

I agreed pretty much instantly.

To be honest, I never thought that I ended up selling cans of soup at a farmer's market,

...