The creditors were knocking on their doors while shareholders demanded their money, and since everything was either invested in the projects or lost, they couldn’t pay them back.
Usually, I wouldn’t be interested in such a company. There isn’t much pride or accomplishment in acquiring sinking ships that no one else seems to want. It’s much more interesting to get what everyone else desires. However, they had one good thing going for them.
Their staff.
They know how to do their jobs well, and since I could see that the company still had a chance under the right leadership, I made an offer the shareholders couldn’t refuse.
Almost everyone signed off their shares to me, and I now own more than 50 percent of the company, while the remaining shares stay with the Jones family.
The patriarch still stubbornly believes he could save his legacy and has been begging me relentlessly for a meeting to give them all a chance.
What a laughing concept anyway. Does he think we run a charity here?
The corporate world is a red ocean with sharks who will tear your flesh apart the minute they scent blood.
It’s in our nature.
Compassion, empathy, and mercy have no place here, and only the strongest contender survives.
Why the Joneses thought they’d be any different from all the companies I annexed over the years is beyond me.
My ruthless reputation precedes me, and anyone believing otherwise is a fool, ready to lose, as no one goes against me and wins.
My absolute power stays this way because I give no second chances.
“Mr. Wright, please, if you just look…”
“I will do no such thing.” I throw the folder at him, and he catches it, sighing in resignation. “Your son is a drunk who brought you all to a pathetic state. You should never have given him the reins. He destroyed your legacy and made you a laughingstock in the business world.” He shifts on his seat. “If you choose to believe he can save you, by all means do. However, I don’t really indulge people in their fantasies.” I point toward the door. “Now, please get the hell out of my office and sign over your shares while I’m still feeling generous.”
At least he’ll have enough money to buy a new suit.
Complete devastation mars his features as he opens and closes his mouth, still trying to plead his case, but he must finally read the room. He grabs the folder and puts it back inside, clenching the briefcase to his chest as he gets up and slowly heads to the door. His gait is unsteady, and his breathingbecomes more rapid. He must be struggling to keep his composure and not erupt in sobs since he just lost the company he had built from scratch.
For a second, something stirs inside my nonexistent soul, reminding me of the boy I once was, who watched his father strip people of their hopes and dreams and vowed never to turn into a monster himself.
But then I spin around and catch my reflection in the panoramic window, where the hideous creature with half of his face disfigured stares back at me.
I’m a monster with no redeeming qualities, and whatever hopes and dreams I’ve had in the past died in that fire that killed my father and took away half my face.
Raising the glass to my mouth, I welcome the bitter cold taste of whiskey on my tongue, washing away the familiar resentment, and frown when I see Jones still standing by the exit, his hand on the doorknob.
He straightens up, and I look over my shoulder, my brow rising, wondering what other bullshit excuse he will come up with next.
The man needs to learn when to give up. He should have shown such determination when choosing an heir to his empire. He wouldn’t have to go beg for handouts otherwise.
“I have a daughter.” Everything around me stills as my hunting instincts go on high alert. “What if I offered her?” He barely pushes the words out as if they physically hurt him, and amusement sparks inside me.
Well, well, well.
Turns out Jones isn’t the saint he painted himself out to be, since he is willing to whore out his own daughter to me.
“She’s very beautiful,” he adds as if the fact matters to me, and I finish my drink before spinning on my heel and dropping the glass on the desk where it rattles loudly.
Beautiful women are never in short supply in my glittering, fake world, where power and wealth mean everything. They ignore the scars, acting out their parts as long as they are generously rewarded for it.
Not that any lingered for longer than necessary. They could barely hide their disgust toward me, and it suits me just fine.
Illusions don’t exist for me.
