Page 2 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

Once they were finished, I’d spoken to a little more than half the board room—nearly a dozen people. I looked them all in the eye, smiled, and said—

“All of you are fired.”

I then turned my back on them, leaving them to look at each other and then at me back without any awkward pleading or threats. As they shuffled out of the boardroom, I addressed the remaining members.

“Those of you who didn’t fall all over yourselves to kiss my ass did so for one of two reasons.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “One, you’re pissed off that I took over your company and are thinking of resigning. Or two, you’re confident enough in your abilities that you don’t feel the need to justify your existence to me. It’s the second group I’m most interested in, because you’re the people I want on my team as we take Acme bread even higher.”

“We’re already the top bread manufacturer and distributor in the world. Our products are sold on every continent on Earth but Antarctica.”

I turned to the speaker. Jeff Barnes, the sixtyish hawk-nosed former CEO.

“How are you going to get higher than THAT?” He glared at me as if he’d spoken with the voice of God.

“You make some excellent points, Mr. Barnes.” I whipped out my cell phone and opened the other tab I had prepared in advance. “But I measure success not only by volume, but by reputation. Listen to these reviews of your—I’m sorry, of my—products.”

I cleared my throat. “The Acme Country White loaf is a fine bread if you have low expectations and no other options… or how about this one? The cardboard backing tastes better than the Acme Swiss Cake Rolls.”

I took them in with my gaze. “We’re not the name that comes to mind when people think quality. I want to change that perception.”

I checked the time. “It’s now ten o’clock AM. I want ideas on the table by noon. I’ll spring for lunch.”

With that, I turned my back and left the board room. I headed back to the elevator and rode it up to the roof access port. There, the Acme Helipad—stupidly embossed with that ridiculous Acme Ace—stretched out before me. Right on cue, the Huey Sky Limousine chopper descended from the azure skies.

First out of the chopper was Chandler Reece. His mustache and goatee made many people compare him to the Devil—a handsome devil, that is. He straightened his black and white pinstripe suit and made his way down the stairway as the rotors slowed their spin. He was our firm’s Treasurer, but he was far from stingy. He was always willing to loosen the purse strings when one of us had a crazy scheme, mostly because it made him money.

Second out was Mason Wilder. Built like a superhero and a lover of all things granola and surf-related. Our firm’s COO and has more of a lady-killer rep than even me. Well, maybe not, but it’s close.

Last but not least—just ask him, he’ll tell you—Stanley Timmons. He adjusted his wire-rim glasses and looked aloof, but then he was always like that. He was our Chief Executive Data Analyst, and a certified genius. Again, just ask him. He’ll tell you.

“Gentlemen.” I popped the cork on the champagne I’d had chilling and poured them all a glass.

“What’s all of this, now?” Mason asked.

“It’s a celebration of our new acquisition, Acme Breads.”

“During an anti-gluten movement, you bought a bread company?” Mason’s face stretched in horrified shock.

“Relax, Mase,” Timmons said with a grin. “I crunched the numbers. The vast majority of households throughout the world still consume bread. Taking Acme was a smart move.”

“Thanks to our firm’s reputation,” I said, lifting my glass in the air, “shares of Acme have gone up twenty-five percent. We’re already richer, gentlemen.”

“To being already richer,” Mason said, offering a toast which we all took.

The celebration didn’t last long—we were all busy men, after all. I headed back down to the lobby, intent on making good on my offer to provide lunch to the board members who I hadn’t fired.

On my way toward the door, Tisha stopped me.

“Excuse me, Mr. Thomas,” she said, slipping something into my blazer pocket. “I wanted to give you this.”

She smiled at me and walked away, swinging her hips far more than was necessary. I got in my limo and checked my pocket, smiling when I saw a red lip trace on her business card. Nice touch.

Just another day for the Tiger of Wall Street.

Chapter Two

Amelia

This morning I woke up as usual, drank a cup of coffee and went to my aunt’s house.

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