The Next Billionaire

Chapter 4: The Man with the Red Glove

Frank sat in a quiet hospital corridor, elbows on knees, his heart still racing. Outside the ER doors, doctors worked furiously to stabilize Winston Wrenford. Blood still stained Frank’s shirt, but he didn’t feel it. All he could think about was the moment Winston was shot—and the cold, hollow look in Corbin’s eyes before he was dragged away by security.

“Frank.”

He looked up.

Ella stood before him, her hands trembling slightly. Her eyes were red, not from fear—but fury.

“He’s going to be okay,” she said. “The bullet missed anything vital. The doctors say he’s lucky.”

Frank nodded, relieved—but only for a second. Because something still didn’t sit right.

“This wasn’t just about power,” he muttered. “Corbin had something else planned.”

Ella hesitated. “What do you mean?”

Frank glanced around, lowered his voice. “I think he was working with someone… maybe outside the company. The hit—it was too clean. The sniper vanished. And when I caught up with Corbin, he didn’t seem surprised. He was prepared.”

Ella looked at him. “You think there’s more coming?”

Frank’s silence was her answer.

---

Three blocks away, in a dimly lit hotel room, the sniper stood by the window, cleaning his rifle. His gloves were crimson red—an odd flourish for someone so calculated, so surgical.

The TV played silently in the background. News footage from WrenTech Tower: board members escorted out, Winston loaded into an ambulance, police swarming the scene.

He muted the screen.

Then opened a second folder: Frank Sutton – Level 2 Priority. Eliminate Quietly.

A text lit up his burner phone:
“Failure is not an option this time.”
– R

The man cracked his neck, zipped his case, and slipped on his coat. He walked out without a sound, merging into the crowd.

---

At WrenTech HQ, police finished sweeping the premises. Officers questioned employees, pulled surveillance footage, and catalogued Corbin’s electronics.

Frank was brought back in under heavy security. He had gone from janitor to national headline in twelve hours.

Winston was recovering, but still unconscious.

The boardroom had been transformed into a crisis command center. Agents in dark suits swarmed the halls. Federal eyes were now watching.

Agent Mia Caldwell approached Frank. Tall, sharp, with an expression that didn’t blink.

“You’re Frank Sutton?”

“Yes.”

“I’m with Internal Security Liaison. We’ve been monitoring threats to tech firms. This incident isn’t isolated. There’s a pattern.”

Frank’s stomach twisted. “Pattern?”

“Three other tech CEOs in the last year—‘accidents.’ All happened right before sensitive mergers, key inventions, or massive IPOs.”

“And you think WrenTech is next.”

“I think,” Caldwell said, “you’ve just stepped into something much bigger than you realize.”

---

Back in the hospital, Ella sat beside her father’s bed. His hand twitched slightly.

“Dad,” she whispered. “Frank… he saved everything.”

Winston’s eyelids fluttered, and for a second, she saw life return to his face. He tried to speak—but a tear rolled down instead.

Ella gripped his hand tighter.

---

That night, Frank couldn’t sleep.

He paced his one-room apartment, surrounded by files, charts, and code sheets. The excitement of cracking the T9Space code had evaporated into dread.

He knew Corbin’s arrest didn’t end this.

The moment the sniper tried—and failed—something shifted.

They would come again.

He stared at his wall. A formula he’d sketched out weeks ago seemed to shimmer in a new light. He picked up a pen, circled two fragments, and frowned.

“T9 wasn’t just about stocks,” he muttered. “It’s a gateway.”

Suddenly, his phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

He hesitated, then answered. “Hello?”

A low, gravel voice replied:
“Tick-tock, Mr. Sutton. You shouldn’t have touched the code.”

Click.

Frank froze.

He turned, instinctively checking his window—nothing.

But across the street, from the rooftop opposite, a small red light blinked once, then disappeared.

Frank rushed to grab his bag—his instincts screaming.

But as he reached for the doorknob, he paused.

Under the door…

a thin envelope had been slid inside.

No address.

No writing.

Just one thing inside:

A photograph of Ella.

And a note scrawled beneath it:

“You unlock secrets. We unlock people.”