Ficly

The Billionaire

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen.” He began as he always did. He entered the ultra-modern private executive boardroom, dominated by a massive glass and chromed steel conference table. “We are right on time, let us start, Stephen?” he turned to the portly man who occupied the seat on his own right.

“Yes sir, please direct your attention everyone to page three of the status deck.” The group all swiped on their tablets and studied the slide. “This quarter we saw a one point three percent decline-.”

“Stop! Just stop.” The Billionaire blurted out. He effortlessly slid back and stood, eyes as slits reviewing the room. “Do you all know what it means to be a billionaire? Do you? Can you fathom what it means?” He paced down in front of the windows overlooking the San Francisco Bay. “It means that whatever I do, whatever I say and whatever I think is right! Everything about me is correct! I could defecate right on this table and all of you should consider finding a spoon to take a bite!”

This story has no comments.