The Rise of John Raymond

Chapter 47: Blue Door or Pink Door

Stuck between a wall and a brick was the best way to describe John's current state. The two doors loomed before him like silent judges, each holding a future wrapped in mystery and risk. Behind one, a world he might thrive in. Behind the other, a trap he might never recover from. And yet, he had to choose.

He wiped the sweat forming on his palms and stared ahead. The blue door was cold, almost intimidating. The pink door felt louder, more energetic. Neither seemed to call his name, yet both demanded an answer.

Time was ticking.

John closed his eyes. He saw his grandfather’s face, that weathered look of pride mixed with burden. That man had built an empire with nothing but grit and time. He had sent John here, not just to be tested, but to be shaped. And John could almost hear his voice now, low and calm, saying: “Go where the wisdom is. Go where the fire was first lit.”

He opened his eyes.

And chose the blue door.

He didn’t rush. He walked with a quiet dignity that belied his internal nerves. His body was tense, his mind flooded with doubt, but his footsteps were steady. This was not the easier path, but it was the safer one—or rather, the wiser one. These were the builders, the survivors, the warriors of economy. They were men and women who earned their wealth in the trenches of failure and triumph. John respected that. He needed that.

The compere, standing to the side like a loyal butler in a twisted game, gave a knowing nod and tapped a signal. A soft mechanical click echoed, and the blue door unlocked.

John took a deep breath.

And walked in.

The moment he stepped through, all thoughts of fear scattered like dry leaves in the wind. For standing right before him was the man he had been waiting all night to meet. The man behind the whispers. The gatekeeper of gates. The one they all called King.

“You’re one lucky champ,” King said with a half-smile, tapping John on the shoulder with a mix of affection and pride.

John’s eyes widened slightly. King wasn’t at all what he had expected. In his mind, he had pictured a man older, greyer, perhaps weighed down by power. But the man before him—clean-shaven, sharp-eyed, barely looking over fifty—radiated youth in the way only wealth, discipline, and ruthless ambition could maintain.

King didn’t waste time with formalities. He wrapped an arm around John's shoulder like an uncle ready to give a lesson and ushered him deeper into the blue room.

It wasn’t a room of laughter, but it wasn’t cold either. The atmosphere buzzed with measured respect. Older men and women seated in elegant clusters eyed John with a mix of curiosity and calculation. Some nodded. Some smiled. One woman, however, didn’t bother to hide her disdain.

She looked at him like he was an unwelcome memory.

John noticed her right away. She was in her fifties, refined, powerful, and dressed in a way that suggested she was born with pearls around her neck. Yet her eyes, cold and sharp, watched him with something between annoyance and pain.

“That’s Marcia,” King whispered, noticing John’s confusion. “Don’t mind her. She doesn’t like young men.”

“Why?” John asked, genuinely puzzled.

King sighed. “At the start of her career, she married a promising young man. Thought they’d take over the world together. He turned out to be… disappointing. Lazy. She pushed him, tried to shape him. In return, he left her for a younger woman, got serious, and made a billion. A year later.”

John blinked. “That’s—brutal.”

“Life’s brutal,” King said, his tone neutral. “She didn’t let it break her. She worked harder, doubled her efforts, and ended up swallowing his company whole. Ruthless woman. But now, she sees every young man as a walking red flag.”

Marcia didn’t say a word. She waved at John without expression and then turned away, pretending he didn’t exist.

“Like I said,” King continued, “not everyone will like you. But those who matter will rise above their bias. Give it time.”

John nodded, taking the lesson to heart.

King then introduced him to the rest of the room. These weren’t just guests; they were titans in their fields. Business moguls. Creators of industries. Investors whose one decision could lift a nation or ruin a giant.

“Over there is Robin,” King gestured, leading John to a broad-shouldered man with a sharp jawline and easy grin. “He owns Fortune 600. Built it from scratch.”

Robin stood and clasped John's hand in a firm grip. His energy was warm, almost brotherly.

“Good to meet you, John,” he said. “Your grandfather spoke highly of you.”

John tried to hide his surprise.

Robin chuckled. “Yeah, old man and I go way back. He told me you might be stopping by. Looks like he wasn’t wrong.”

They sat for a while, and Robin began to talk—not as a mogul, but as a mentor.

“Everyone sees the final picture,” Robin said. “But they don’t know the smudges, the torn pieces, the years I spent barely surviving.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping.

“I built a fashion empire not by selling to the rich, but by understanding that every dollar matters. The celebrities bring the fame, sure. But the working class—those are your bread and butter. Luxurious profits go into reinvesting. Low-budget profits cover the running costs. Balance that, and you get to survive storms while still owning a yacht near the Bahamas.”

John laughed, surprised at the clarity of the lesson.

Robin winked. “Took me twenty years to figure it out. Now I own five islands. Two of them are still under renovation, but hey, the paperwork’s done.”

King nodded in approval. John was beginning to understand.

Then came Carly.

She was unforgettable from the moment she entered. Five-inch red-bottom heels clicked like gunshots on the marble floor. Her lips were red, her energy electric. A woman who made the room bend with her presence.

“John,” she said, brushing his shoulders as if straightening invisible dust. “I used to date your grandfather.”

John nearly choked. Carly laughed.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. Back then, he could keep up. Barely.”

She turned and let her words trail like perfume.

“I still have his number. He has ten more months before I delete it.”

Everyone laughed, but John saw the fire in her eyes. Carly was a storm in heels.

“You see people?” she said. “I see dollar signs. I don’t walk into a room without selling something. They say I sold my soul to the devil. I say—hell, the devil probably needed a discount.”

She lit her cigar with practiced grace and leaned closer.

“You’ve got potential. But never be afraid to risk. A risk will either teach you something… or bless you. But not risking at all? That’s the biggest sin in our world.”

John nodded, letting her words carve themselves into his mind.

While the other room played a video of artifacts soon to be auctioned, the blue room carried a different energy. There were no flashy displays. Here, the real value wasn’t in the items but in the minds. Lessons flowed through conversation, not price tags.

King gave John a moment to breathe before guiding him to more guests. Some greeted him with respect, offering cards and quiet encouragement. Others ignored him or gave side comments that stung just a little—but John understood. Not everyone would believe in him at first. And that was fine.

He was still processing the wealth of wisdom being handed to him when it happened.

The sound came like a gunshot.

Glass shattered—loud, sudden, terrifying.

Everyone turned at once. Even King’s eyes narrowed.

The room fell into a tense silence.

Without a word, King stood and excused himself. The calm in his posture was betrayed by the quiet urgency in his steps.

“That can’t be good,” Carly muttered as she exhaled a cloud of smoke. Her eyes narrowed toward the door.

John’s heart pounded. The blue room had felt like a sanctuary moments ago, but now something had disturbed the calm.

Something had broken the rhythm.

And in King’s world, nothing ever broke without a purpose.