The Billionaire Soldier's Revenge

Chapter 2: Riches & Cancer.

≈10 Hours Earlier…

March 14, 2022…

Manhattan, New York…

Office of Greenville CEO James Ronald…

James Ronald's hand shook as he signed another lengthy contract. His signatures looked wobbly, and the gold pen he had used for over a week felt much heavier than usual.

On top of that, the constant headaches were getting worse. James pressed his fingers to his forehead while looking around his large corner office.

Through the glass wall, he could see a sprawling overview of Manhattan, and on his desk were countless papers and contracts that controlled billions of dollars and thousands of jobs.

At 36, James Ronald owned over half of New York's renewable energy assets.

But none of it mattered if he was dying.

Things were very different 16 years ago, when Greenville Industries was just him and a laptop in a college dorm. Back then, he could work for days with little food and no sleep. Now, every hour felt like forever.

The strange headaches started three months ago with mild pain; now they felt like nails constantly being driven into his brain.

James looked at his Rolex, which read 3:46 PM, and there were at least six more contracts that needed signing. Worse yet, according to his secretary, he still had to attend board meetings and video conferences. Multiple foreign investors were expecting his long-awaited call in less than an hour.

As he reached for the next file, the office phone rang.

"Sir?" came a soft and careful voice. Paola always sounded like that whenever his doctor called.

"Doctor Patterson says your test results are ready and you both need to talk."

James put down his pen and removed his glasses, taking a deep breath before responding.

"Put him through, Miss Wilson."

Then came a clicking sound before another voice came through.

"Mr. Ronald, this is Doctor Patterson. I have your MRI results."

James touched the silver cross under his shirt and closed his eyes.

"What did you find, Doctor?"

"I'm afraid it isn't good news, sir," he replied.

"You have something called Glioblastoma Multiforme. It's a brain tumour, and it appears to have grown significantly. It's what has been causing your headaches."

James took a deep breath, trying to process the news as best he could.

"How long do I have?" he asked.

"To start with, even with the right surgeries, radiation, and chemotherapy, we can give you 12 to 18 months at best, maybe two years if you're lucky. But to be honest, the treatment will be very difficult."

James looked at the family photo on his desk as the doctor spoke; his wife Freya and their children.

But that was years ago, long before work made his family look at him like a stranger.

"I'll need time to think about this," James replied.

"Of course, sir," the doctor said.

"But try not to wait too long, or else..."

"Thank you, Doctor," James said before hanging up and sinking back into his chair.

Looking at the family photo again, he picked up his phone to call Freya but stopped himself. She was sick with the flu, probably sleeping at home.

The last thing she needed was him calling to tell her about his death. This kind of news required him to be present with her. He needed to at least hold her hand while telling her this, and he wanted to do it soon. He pressed the intercom.

"Miss Wilson, tell my driver to bring the car around. I'm leaving."

James started sorting his papers when a soft knock came at the door. He looked up and saw his secretary, Paola Wilson, stepping inside.

The young woman's red hair reflected the afternoon sunlight as she walked in, and the way her brown eyes suddenly focused on him made James turn away almost immediately.

"Let me help you with that, sir."

She reached for his briefcase. As always, she likely knew something was wrong.

"Thank you, Miss Wilson."

James handed over the case. "Have I missed anything important today?"

Paola walked beside him as they headed for the elevator.

"Nothing important. Just the usual."

They entered the elevator together.

"Although one person stood out. She said she needed to see you personally."

James shook his head as he pressed the elevator button.

"Another corporate spy?" he asked.

"No, sir," she said, her voice becoming a whisper.

"She's different. She knew Mrs. Ronald's name and talked about both of you like she's known you for years. But when security checked, there was no record of her anywhere."

James frowned.

"What did she want?"

"She said she had a warning for you," Paola said while nervously pushing her glasses up her nose in a way that made her look even younger.

"Security checked again, but only a few older maintenance staff recognised her."

"Where is she from?"

"They say she's from the old stories; one of those who lived in this building before Greenville Industries bought it years ago. Her story, according to them, is unbelievable."

"What's unbelievable about her?" asked James.

Paola stared at her boss just before the elevator dinged.

"They believe she's a witch."

James felt the headaches hit suddenly at that moment. First, it was an unofficial death sentence from his doctor, and now a mystical report from his secretary.

"I might need you to schedule a meeting with her first thing tomorrow morning."

James could see her worried reflection on the elevator door before it opened.

"Are you sure, sir?" she asked.

James looked at her reflection, choosing not to stare at her face directly. It had been a long time since someone looked at him with such genuine care and apparent love.

"If I only have months to live, Miss Wilson, I might as well face what's coming as I always have."

And to James, for now at least, that meant finding out what this witch wanted with a dying billionaire.