Rise Of The Trillionaire: Robert Jackson

CHAPTER NINE

The mouth of Loretta opened and closed. She gazed at Robert as though it was the first time she saw him. Her arrogant face trembled.

"I... that was just jokes. We were all having fun. You know how reunions are." It was less confident now, and lost in her voice.

"Fun?"  Robert replied. “You think it is fun to humiliate a person? Interesting definition."

The receptionist was standing by and looking over the conversation with a wide open mouth in the guise of typing on her computer. She was not literally pressing any keys with her fingers.

Loretta touched him, her nails manicured to impeccable perfection bringing an arm of Robert into contact with her. Well, I apologize, you know, I didn't mean to come out mean. I didn't mean anything by it. It was just banter."

Robert jerked away his arm. "You meant every word. Every. Single. Word."

"Come on, don't be so sensitive. It was just a reunion. People joke around. We were drinking. You know how it is."

Robert leaned over, and spoke in an ugly kind of whisper. "Here's the thing, Loretta. I have to interview you tomorrow. You had better mind that mouth of yours. Very carefully."

Loretta's face went pale. Every drop of blood bled out of her cheeks. Her hand flew to her chest. "You're lying. That's impossible."

His voice was level and Robert addressed the receptionist. "Tell her who I am."

The receptionist lifted his eyes and smiled in a professional manner. “He is the new president, Robert Jackson. He started today."

Loretta fell back, half stumbling, in her costly heels. She used the desk to support herself. "President? But... how? You were taking pizzas yesterday!”

"Life's funny that way." Robert replied, and was thoughtlessly stroking his fingernails. “The pizza boy turns into the boss sometimes.”

"Robert, please." Loretta's voice cracked. "I didn't know. You have to understand. If I had known"

“Would you have not done the same to me? That all tells of the character, does it?”

"I understand perfectly. You are a bully and you bully anybody that you consider to be weaker than you. You make judgments based on the occupation. Their clothes. Their trainers."

The eyes of Loretta filled with tears. It was real or fake, and Robert did not know. Didn't care either way. “Please, do not cancel my interview. This is a job of my lifetime. This is what I have been striving to do over the years. Auditions, rejection, years of them.”

Robert took out his phone, glancing at it. What time shall Miss Lynn be interviewed tomorrow?

The receptionist flicked with her computer, consulting the schedule. "2 PM, sir."

Robert nodded slowly. "Make it 8 AM. Sharp. Being one minute late means permanent cancellation. Discard her as a consideration.”

"Yes, sir." The changes were made by the receptionist typing.

"8 AM?" Loretta's voice rose in pitch. "That's so early. I am supposed to have a photo shoot at nine. I can't cancel that. It's for Vogue!"

"Cancel it." said Robert coldly. "Or cancel this interview. Your choice. Choose wisely."

Loretta caught him by the arm in a desperate manner. Her nails dug into his sleeve. "Robert, please. I said I'm sorry. What more do you want from me? I'll do anything."

Robert touched his sleeve with his hand and looked at her disgustedly. She dropped straight away like she was scalded.

“I want you to get the same feeling I had last night. Humiliated. Small. Worthless. Like you don't matter." He began to walk to the exit with a plethora of footsteps.

"Robert!" He was called back by Loretta with her crying voice.

He didn't turn around. Didn't slow down. He forced his way through the glass doors and the blazing sunshine.

His delivery bike lay where he had left it. Soon, he'd replace it. Very soon. But there was another place he must visit.

The car dealer was fifteen minutes distant via downtown traffic. This was the last time Robert would be riding in the streets with his bike and the wind on his face.

As he arrived at Premium Motors, a salesman went up to him. And he had a sharp suit and even a sharper smile. His teeth were as unnaturally white.

He did not have that smile when he spotted the delivery bike. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

“We do not purchase second hand bikes here, pal. Test pawn shop on the block”. Dismissively, rudely, said the salesman.

Robert drew out his black card which he was holding between two fingers. "I'm not selling. I'm buying. Your most expensive car."

The eyes of the salesman were fixed on the card. His whole character changed at a moment. The smile again appeared, with a broader breadth. "Right this way, sir. Welcome to Premium Motors. My name is Jake and I will be assisting you today.”

Robert took off two hours later in a Bugatti Chiron. The exterior is black with blood-red leather inside. Sleek. Powerful. Beautiful. Raw power and luxury worth three million dollars.

The delivery motorcycle was in the parking lot of the dealership. Robert had instructed them to give it away, or destroy it. He didn't care which. That part of his life was over.

Robert roamed around the city, and the purr of the engine could be felt under him. The speed was unbelievable. He was able to accelerate and reach sixty in less than three seconds. People stared as he passed. Heads turned. Phones emerged with the purpose of capturing pictures and videos. There were those who were pointing and screaming.

This was power. Real power. The authority to cause people to turn and gaze.

At the speakers of his car, his phone rang. The name of Roxanne was written in bold letters on the dashboard.

The hand of Robert was trembling above the steering wheel answer button. Should he? Shouldn't he?

He answered. "What do you want?"

"Robert, I... I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. Can we talk? Please?" The voice of Roxanne was little. Uncertain. Nothing as her normal authoritative voice.

"About what? How you kicked me out? How you thought Maxime against me? How you allow your mother to slap me blind?”

"Please, just come home. We should negotiate things in a proper manner. Like adults. Like married people should."

Robert laughed. The noise vibrated in the costly interior of the car. "Home? That's not my home, Roxanne. It never was. I was merely a servant, who had gone to sleep there. A maid in your house."

"Don't say that. You're my husband. My legal husband."

"Am I? Since last night you said to me drive away. Your mother slapped me blind. And there you stood and did nothing. Absolutely nothing. You didn't even flinch."

Silence on the other end. Robert was able to hear her breathing. Fast, nervous, scared even.

He continued, his voice hard. “But, because you called, I ought to tell you something. I wasn't lying about the money. I sent it and not Maxime. Me."

Check with Leonardo Vegas yourself, said Robert. “Call Blue Razor incorporation. Ask them who made the payment. Then summon me when thou art ready to say repentance. Not just say words you do not mean, but apologize.”

Robert had put up before she could reply. He cut her off mid-sentence.

He used the Bugatti to drive to an apartment building owned by Dave, and parked it in the visitor zone. A number of individuals paused to look at the car. Some took pictures. It was even touched by one guy who was attempting it before Robert gave him a glance.

Dave was residing in a shabby building in the third floor. Robert enjoyed the exercise and climbed up the stairs. His new shoes clucked on the steps on the concrete.

Dave took the door and beer in hand. He saw Robert in his costly suit and his eyes opened wide. After which he looked out of the window at the car down below.

"Robert? Whose car is that? Did you steal it or something?"

"Mine." Robert passed him into the little apartment.

The beer in Dave almost dropped out of his hand. "Yours? Are you serious? That's a Bugatti! Those cost millions!"

Oh yes, nodded Robert, and sat on the old couch. He strained the springs as he leaned on them. "Can we talk? I need to tell you something."