I am a book. You are the reader. Which begs the question: what do you expect to read? And what information do you expect for me to divulge? I know that there is one question that must be on your mind. You must be wondering what the wealth of expectation is. What value comes from our ambitions? What price can you put on a dream?

I have these answers. They lie within my pages. The wealth of expectation is truly something incredible. It is a value that cannot be measured in dollars and dimes. If expectation is to be measured, it is measured through the efficiency of time. Our time is short, our lives an hourglass. How are those moments spent? What is the value of an hour? Do you know?

This book contains many secrets, as I have said. They are not entirely my own. A book is nothing without its audience, its secrets nothing more than a tantalizing string of words. Trust that within each page lies the anticipation of someone else who was desperate to read what, exactly, this book had to say, for many reasons. For answers? For pleasure?

For understanding the question: what is the wealth of expectation?

Books are dangerous things. Information is poisonous. Is it possible to expunge information out of one's mind when it is haunting, playing in the mind's eye like a bad record, jarring and painful but resonant, persistent? I do not think it is.

So I forewarn you, whoever you are, from wherever you come from. Understand what you are reading is information, yes. It is an answer and, in some ways, you may gain pleasure. But at the same time, I caution you. Is the answer an answer you desire? Will knowing the answer find you closure?

That answer to that old question...

There was a man once who kept me close to him, always. His name was Jay Halloway.

Here is a secret that you did not ask for, one that perhaps you never wanted to know: on a damp and cold morning Jay Halloway fell from the eighty-sixth floor of his apartment complex, falling to his death. He wore a black suit-one he had only worn two times before-and in his hand was a locket, a heart-shaped dollar store purchase from younger days, happier days. The last thing he saw before he escaped this world was how the moon in the sky was still visible even though the sun had risen.

Jay Halloway sought success. He had expectations but for most of his life they were impoverished. He didn't have the wit or the charm to forge his own success. He carried with him no solutions to his problems.

All he had was a novel: The Wealth of Expectation. Plainly bound. Small text- this drove him crazy, I remember. So many answers presented to him, all blurry to his unaided eye...He hated to be dependent on his reading glasses but didn't question for an instant his dependence on a book of only a hundred pages...

Jay died knowing what it cost to find the truth behind those dreams which he had always held in his heart but never truly realized. Jay died knowing everything that this book had to offer.

Books are dangerous things; Jay knew this as well. He knew this before he even put this book in-between his hands.

I arrived to him, one day, much like I have introduced myself to you.

However, I introduced myself rather differently.

Within this book your dreams may lie.

And that is where our story begins.