Zero to Billionaire

Chapter 1

The busy workplace floor was bathed in a sterile glare from the fluorescent lights humming above. With his head down and his suitcase firmly gripped, John made his way through the tangle of cubicles. A sense of a thousand invisible eyes pressing down on him sent shivers up his spine.

Whispers turned into murmurs, which grew louder until they became a faint hum carrying parts of his name. John tensed up and tightened his hold on the briefcase. Though he couldn't quite make out what she was saying, he could tell by the tone that it was mocking and tinged with sympathy. 

A voice behind a cubicle wall muttered, "There he goes, Mr. Failure himself," the words dripping with a poisonous delight. An further, sardonic voice said, "It's unbelievable he's still here. Due to his terrible suggestion, the firm has been losing money for months." 

John clenched his jaw and forced himself to continue moving. He was aware of its unfairness. It wasn't all his fault that the client pitch had gone south. His enthusiastic and ambitious colleague Sarah had pushed on adding extraneous features that drove up the price and turned off the customer. However, in the cruel world of corporate scapegoating, he was the one held entirely responsible.

The murmurs turned to conjecture. "Do you think they'll finally fire him today?" was a question Sarah said in a sweet, saline voice that John could have thought he heard.

The voice that said, "Wouldn't be surprised," was probably one of her cronies. "Mr. Harris isn't known for his patience, and John's been on thin ice since the presentation."

John felt his heart pound violently in his chest, pounding fiercely against his ribs. He wasn't gullible. Even Lisa, the usually gregarious receptionist, now only smiled strainedly when he greeted her each morning. His performance assessments had been harsh, and his coworkers had become aloof as well. Lisa used to be amiable, even flirty, with her brilliant red lipstick and unending sparkle in her eye. She gave him a look of sympathy mixed with barely disguised contempt at this point.

John picked up his speed, ignoring the buzzing in his ears as he focused on his office at the end of the hallway. Before he knew it, it seemed like a lifetime, he collapsed into his chair and let out a sigh that came out of his mouth like a burst balloon. He forcefully closed his briefcase, making a pitiful sound in an effort to block off the murmurs that seemed to permeate the tiny walls.

He felt a shock of terror at the sound of a knock at the door. The door creaked open before he could even yell, and there was Emily's face a young, bright-eyed intern who was the only one who still gave him a sense of warmth. Her normally enthusiastic, bright eyes were obscured by concern. 

Her voice was barely audible as she continued, "Mr. Black wants to see you in his office." 

A puddle of chilly dread formed in John's gut. The encounter that is certain. He had been living on the edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and dreading it for weeks. He pushed Emily to grin at him, a weak, insincere smile.

He said, "Thanks, Emily," but even he could not hear the distance in his voice. This was no longer simply about the work. A crest of embarrassment swept over him. With her exquisite outfits and flawless hair, clare would love spreading rumors about his impending demise. He could just see the triumphant glitter in her eyes and the arrogant smirk playing on her lips.

For a few period, he sat there, terrified to move. His thoughts raced with images of a tidy desk, a cardboard box stuffed full of his possessions, and the hurt of rejection. He could practically hear the merciless tone of Mr. Harris voice cold, practical, and bereft of any human sympathy. Although John was not a confrontational person, a glimmer of defiance flared at the notion of Sarah taking pride in his suffering.

He said to himself, his voice taut, "Get up, John." "Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing you crumble." 

Taking a long breath, he attempted to calm himself. He was not going to surrender easily. Even though his work was insecure, he refused to let Mr. Harris, Clare, or anyone else breaks his spirit. John took a last, reassuring breath, fixed his tie, and got up from his chair. 

Head held high, a façade of confidence covering the terror simmering under the surface, he marched into Mr. Harris office. With the increasing confidence that this would be his last stroll down this familiar corridor, every step seemed heavy. When he arrived at the stately oak door, he knocked nervously, his knuckles pounding on the polished wood.