Zero to Billionaire

Chapter 2

The heavy knock on the mahogany door being pushed open by John reverberated through Mr. Harris' magnificent office. Massive mahogany desk laden with paperwork dominated the area, which was far larger than his own little cubicle. Behind it stood Mr. Harris, a man whose intimidating presence was only enhanced by his immaculately made suit; his steely blue star seemed to penetrate John.

Mr. Harris bellowed, "Ah, Mr. Evans," with a hint of irritation in his voice. "Please enter. Kindly have a seat." The creak of the soft leather chair across from the desk startled John amid the tight atmosphere as he fell into it.

Retiring in his chair, Mr. Harris made a move that made John shudder: he curled his fingers. "John," he said, his dramatic voice faltering, "we need to talk."

John felt his heart pounding in his chest. The only thing he could manage to say was, "Of course, sir," in a quiet voice.

With measured and careful remarks, Mr. Black added, "It's come to my attention that your performance lately... hasn't quite met expectations." John's cheeks became red. The axe was there, at last coming to rest.

"There have been issues," Mr. Black said, narrowing his gaze. "Missed deadlines, lackluster reports, and frankly, John, a certain… inaction in your approach to your work."

John started to defend himself, but Mr. Black stopped him with a raised hand. "Let us not overlook the latest client presentation," Mr. Black said, his tone becoming more serious. "At best, a disaster. The gossip at the workplace..." he stopped off, without saying anything more.

John winced. The rumours and conjecture had also reached Mr. Black's ears. His throat stung with shame. His thoughts darted to Sarah's victorious expression.  

"Rumours are just rumours," he said to himself. They are overstated."

Mr. Black gave a snort, a funny sound. "Maybe. But John, wouldn't you agree that fire typically occurs when there is smoke?" Leaning forward, he let out a deep growl in his voice. The murmurs depict a worker who is only going through the motions and is satisfied with mediocrity. To be honest, John, I can't afford to be mediocre."

A wave of defiance sprang up within John. "I'm not mediocre, Mr. Black," he remarked, startlingly confident in his tone. "I am invested in this business. The most recent project was partially my responsibility. He began to explain, detailing the pointless extras Sarah had insisted on, how they affected the budget, and how the customer had rejected them as a result.

Mr. Black listened without making any facial expressions that suggested he was paying attention to what John had to say. After John was done, the room was silent for a very long time.

At last, Mr. Harris replied, his tone returning to that of a businessman, "Let me be frank, John." "This business is having trouble. Top performers, motivated staff members who deliver outcomes, are what we require. Giving someone a second opportunity when they may not be sincere is too risky for me." 

John felt his gut churn. He grasped the reasoning of Mr. Harris. A faltering business could not afford to be the burden of dead weight. But after years of commitment, to be dismissed so quickly depression was on the verge of taking hold of him.

He begged, "Please, Mr. Harris," his voice breaking with passion. "I recognise the worries you have. However, I promise that I'm not who they portray me to be. Give it to me again. I'm not going to fail you."

For a considerable amount of time, Mr. Harris observed him, his face inscrutable. With his future weighing heavily on his shoulders, John held his breath.  

"A second chance," Mr. Harris stated carefully, as if considering his statement. John, there's a lot on the queue. We are about to get a big deal, one that has the potential to salvage this organisation. I cannot afford to make any errors or blunders at this critical point."

For John, hope flickered. He answered, "I understand," with sincerity. "And I promise that I won't be the cause of our contract's termination. Whatever it takes, I'll put in the additional work and long hours. Just give me a chance to show my abilities."

Mr. Harris curled his fingers again, staring at something that was someplace beyond John's shoulder. The sound of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed to reverberate with every tick, and John's heart continued to pound.

At last, Mr. Harris made a statement.