Rise Of The Trillionaire: Robert Jackson

CHAPTER SEVEN

At nine-thirty, Robert came to Zenco enterprise. Early, but not too early. He was in a mood to enjoy this moment, to make it sink in.

It was made of tall glass and steel in the morning sky extending into the clouds. Literature of mightiness and grandeur. He had worked here once, when he was somebody. When there was a meaning to the Jackson name.

Now, he'd reclaim it. Reclaim everything that they took and stole out of him.

Robert put his delivery bike in the visitor parking space. Soon, he'd have a proper car. A fleet of them if he wanted. Ferrari. Lamborghini. Whatever caught his eye.

He passed over into the principal entrance, clicking the marble with his new shoes. The noise reverberated in the great lobby. There were crystal chandeliers suspended on the ceiling. The wall behind the reception desk had the Jackson family crest carved into it.

The receptionist failed to recognize him. Why would she? He had been away five years and before that he did not go much down to the lobby.

"Can I help you?" She inquired, and looked scarcely, at all, above her computer monitor. Her fingers typed rapidly.

I come to see Phillip Jackson. Robert stood right before her desk and said.

"Do you have an appointment?" Her fingers were hovering on the keyboard on the verge of typing out his information.

Robert put his hand against the reception desk, causing her to look up. Say to him that Robert Jackson is there.

Frozen fingers in mid-air of the receptionist. Her eyes went wide her mouth was open ajar and she stared at him. Her hands trembled.

"Robert Jackson? As in"

"Yes. That Robert Jackson." He sat up, and casually smoothed his cuffs.

She reached into her pocket and called on her cell phone, shaking. She barely managed to speak, which was a whisper. Uncle Phillip was talking in the voice on the other end, but Robert could not hear what. Just the tone. Excited. Nervous. Eager.

The receptionist put down the hung-up phone and her face flushed. "He'll be right down, sir. Sit down in our waiting-room, please.”

With a trembling finger she pointed to the costly leather couches, by the window.

Robert didn't sit. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets and employees were passing by. Suits and briefcases. Coffee cups and folders. Big individuals doing big things.

None of them knew who he was. All of them does not know what was going to happen. No one had even the slightest idea that their new boss was standing in the lobby.

Uncle Phillip came out of the elevator smiling and his arms open a few minutes later. He was in a costly suit and his hair was gray at the temples. His tie was knotted up all tight.

"Robert! My boy!" He came in to embrace him, with arms open.

Robert stood aside and maintained his distance. “Keep this business, Uncle.”

The smile of Uncle Phillip died a moment. His arms dropped. "Of course, of course. Come, the board is on its way upstairs. They're very eager to meet you."

They were riding the elevator silently. Robert saw the figures on the digital screen increase. First floor. Fifth. Tenth. Fifteenth floor. Sixteenth. Seventeenth.

Uncle Phillip had cleared his throat. “Robert, I would like you to understand that we are all very grateful to have this opportunity. Very grateful indeed."

Robert said nothing. Then saw the figures go up.

The executive level was opened. Wood floors were polished, and costly light was illuminating them. On the walls were original pieces of art. It was all about affluence and abundance.

Robert emerged, and (he thought) memories. He had passed these halls before. He'd owned these halls before. Every picture, every piece of furniture, he had assisted in its selection. This floor had been decorated by his mother, whom she had died before.

Uncle Phillip took him to the boardroom on the end of the hall. They could be seen through the glass walls by Robert. Board of directors who had voted him out. The same faces, just older, greedier, and more desperate.

His uncle paused at the door, re-adjusting his tie. "Ready?"

Robert pulled himself together, glimpsing his image in the mirror. "I was born ready."

There was a gentle swoosh opened with the boardroom doors. There were twelve pairs of eyes, which stared at Robert. Some looked curious. Others looked angry. All looked desperate.

Uncle Phillip cleared his throat. I have to offer to you, gentlemen, the new president, Robert Jackson.

Silence. Heavy and thick. You could hear a pin drop.

Then, one by one, they stood. Applauding. artificial grins upon their faces. Their hands have clapped each other by mechanical means, but their eyes left resentment. Hatred even.

Robert didn't smile back. He went to the front of the table, which was the chair of the president. The leather had been used over a long period. His father's chair. His grandfather's chair. His chair. Always his chair.

He sat down and clasped his hands together on the mahogany surface that had been polished. There was a glance among the members of the board. Uncomfortable. Nervous. The way that Robert desired them.

Uncle Phillip was sitting next him, drawing out a folder. "Of course. As we talked about, we have been put in a tight spot by the bad investments that Carlton has made. A very difficult position."

Robert said coldly. “Based on what I have read, he bet on cryptocurrency and bet big. Very big."

On the other side of the table, Gerald Hutchins, the oldest member of the board, scowled. His face was red. There is no necessity to talk about the failures of Carlton. We have to talk about the solution. Time is money."

Robert was reclining in his chair with fingers steepled. "The solution is simple. I give you the money. You give me control I mean complete control."

Tidings and rumors broke about the table. Shifting bodies. Clenched jaws. Angry whispers.

We already promised you to be president. Uncle Phillip replied hastily, and with feeling.

Robert's eyes were cold as ice. “Being the president and having control are two different things, Uncle. Very different."