Over the years, he was met with the same brand of scrutiny until he resolved that he wouldn’t rely on his trust fund. It’s what drove him into the boxing gym that day. He channeled that adversity into a determination to prove himself, and never looked back.
They say the first billion is the hardest—he can attest to that because he finally crossed that threshold. From there, the possibilities were limitless.
Kate rubs a soothing hand across his back. A normal person would think of their parents. Grieve for them. James imagines much of his father’s disappointment would be about the abrupt end to his legacy. His chest tightens at the thought, but the memories keep hitting him one after the other. His now dead Irish Setter, Barney. His billion-dollar net worth. The handful of acquaintances he kept. All that success. The woman, Blythe, he took out a few times. The opportunities his death cost him.
You could try and do it again, the 3key suggests.That would really prove something.
The idea sparks something deep inside him. He’ll have to start over. Build a business and a name for himself from scratch. The thought releases an anticipatory flutter in his stomach. Can he do it again? He can hardly live off this woman for the rest of his life. If this is truly the future, he has no other choice. Now the flutter feels a lot more like excitement. Whatifhe did it? What better way to prove your capability than making it twice? He knows no one in this world, so no one could ever claim he made it because of his heritage. This time would truly be on his own. His adrenaline surges at the unbridled potential he feels.
She said the year was 2390. Everyone James knew would be long since dead. All his contacts. His business partners. How does the world operate now? What does the global economy look like? His stomach pitches.
James runs out of the kitchen to the windows. The SATs flying by only make his head spin faster.
No, his momentary excitement at making it again was just his nerves talking. Besides, it won’t be necessary. He couldn’t have died. He doesn’tfeellike he’d died. He feels exactly the same as he did the day before. That means the woman is lying. He is sure of it. And this has to be some sort of weird simulation. For all he knows, the current scene displayed in the windows is the false image.
Yes, that’s it. He remembers his buddies talking about hazing. The ultrawealthy were an elite club. Like a fraternity with unlimited resources. He remembers the tech tycoon—what was it—Chip? Yeah, Chip, telling his hazing story to the group of them at one of the prestigious political fundraisers he often attended. After Chip’s first billion, his friends rerouted his private helicopter to land on a yacht in the Mediterranean. Of course, his closest business associates werethere, along with all the cocaine and Croatian hookers he’d ever want. Not James’s taste, but to each their own.
The guy seemed like a real dickhead anyway, but at the time, James fondly considered what his eventual welcome into the club would entail. That must be what’s happening. What an elaborate effort. He almost grins when he remembers his vomit still coating the sink. How embarrassing. But if he’s clever and can get the fuck out of here on his own, he can use the story to impress potential business partners, much like Chip did. In hindsight, he’ll remember it fondly. Laugh as he relays the misadventure. Possibly impress potential business associates with the tale.
He shoots the woman a last withering glare as he darts for the door.
In his periphery, he catches her alarmed expression as he slips out. Footsteps chase after him as he sprints down the hallway, trying each door until he finds a stairwell. One hundred and sixty-something floors down is a long way to flee. Suddenly, a door at the end of the hallway slides open. He rushes toward it, brushing past the exiting people. He furiously punches the number one as Kate attempts to catch him, her bare feet clapping against the cement floor.
“Wait!” she cries as the elevator closes in her face.
A minute later, the doors reopen to a buzzing lobby that cuts short his victorious feeling. People swarm the space, weaving through brightly lit three-sided signs. Advertisements blink and flash, attempting to win the attention of passersby.
Individuals as vibrant as the signs wear clothes spanning the gamut from sheer slinky pieces, like Kate’s dress, to utilitarian uniforms, and everything in between. All attractive, yet not as precisely so as his captor. Hair in various shades and styles. Does that woman have a metal arm? Upon closer inspection, her skin has been tattooed, like Kate’s dragon scales, to resemble the texture of metal bands, glinting as if the artist mixed a metallic powder into the ink. Fucking weirdos.
The visual stimuli overwhelm him. Several people enter the elevator as he stumbles out. A man walks by, knocking into his shoulder.
“Careful,” the man barks.
James whips his head around to get a good look at him. Red irises stare at him as if his mere existence is annoying. He spins, searching for the exit. Beyond what appears to be a recessed food court, tall windows with a few revolving doors span the wall. He hurries toward them, clipping people as he goes. He doesn’t bother apologizing as their aghast faces alternate between affront and intrigue.
“James!” Kate calls from further back in the crowd. He picks out her voice from the commotion he leaves in his wake. Shit. He has to get away from here. From her.
Aside from being a haven for the alternative, this building seems relatively normal. This gives him further reason to believe she’s lying. This isn’t the future. He’s sure of that now. What did she say? Year 2390? Definitely not.
Yet this place feels different from a typical apartment building, almost like a shopping mall. Maybe it’s an experimental project, like one of those Vertical Cities where an entire community exists in one building. Where do they have those? Dubai? Of course, that’s where his friends sent him. That means he’s in the Middle East. A dust storm, then, and not smog as he assumed. It still doesn’t explain the scantily clad people. Or the hovering cars.
Right as he has the thought, one of them zips by the window, reminding him of the car fromBack to the Future, but sleeker. Across the street, a storefront displays a phrase spelled out in four distinct languages. He suspects they all express the same meaning of the one he can read: Police Station.
Relief washes over him as he makes for the revolving door. He stands in the short line waiting his turn, agitatedly glancing over his shoulder. The practically nude woman edges closer, waving her handsfrantically. He has to get outside and over to the station. The police will sort this out. Surely someone there speaks English and can take him to the embassy. Then, with a few calls, he’ll be on a private jet, heading home. The joke will be on them.
“James, wait!” she cries again.
He half considers dragging her across the street with him. She deserves a fine, at minimum, for the agony she’s put him through. It doesn’t matter if his friends paid her handsomely. She’s complicit as far as he’s concerned. Probably a common criminal. Or an adult film star for hire, more likely. Scientist his ass.
He needs to get the hell out of here. He can only imagine the mountains of work he’ll have by the time he gets back stateside. If only he had his cell.
He darts into the next available slot. The door moves him forward, sealing him in his piece of the pie. But unlike any revolving door he’s ever been in, it pauses. He tries pushing on the glass wall that will lead him outside, but it doesn’t budge. Instead, it makes a series of hissing sounds. The air in the tight space blows down on him, rustling his hair wildly. Then the pressure equalizes, moving him forward into the next position. The process repeats.
James draws in a deep breath as his lungs tighten. Is the door somehow making the air thinner? And why is it taking so long?
Behind him, Kate pushes her way inside the revolving door’s next opening and is beating on the glass with vigor. He glares at her as the door operates. The panic in her bulging eyes seems oddly . . .genuine. And what is that thing she wears over her mouth? It should signal something to him. It’s at the edge of his reasoning. Something isn’t quite right. But in his increasingly altered state, he grins at her, pointing over his shoulder at the police station. She shakes her head, jerking her hand toward the building they’re exiting.
James feels so much lighter now that he’s stolen back control, and she is the one panicking.You’re caught, he mouths slowly enough that she’ll be able to read his lips. Thank God this disaster is finally over. Perhaps he’ll donate a portion of his wealth to victims of human trafficking now that he can personally relate to the horror. Even if this is only an elaborate prank.
