There was some fidgeting now. Danielle Sterne squirmed at The Billionaire’s comment. “How could he quit?” she thought.
He sat again, and looked left and right at a gallery of alternating plump and drawn faces. It all made him sick. These graying and stuffy executives sapped his will to come to this building, his building, every day. The fatter one was, the more starved the next looked. Plastic surgery, botox, $3,000 pantsuits, vacations abroad, the new S-Class dominated the social moments. No one talked with substance, certainly not of the business.
They all had huge organizations below them, full of their own array of liars, degenerates and slaves. The Billionaire began, “Years ago, when I was just starting out I had a job at a company I really did not like. There I had a good friend. One day I decided I did not care to work there any longer. My friend asked if I would just quit. I thought about it. I made him a bet for $10,000. I claimed I could not get fired in less than six months.”