Billions, with a B 1

Prologue.

Brian stood on the sidewalk, craning his neck back until the cold concrete of the skyscraper seemed to pierce the smog-choked Los Angeles sky.

The Dranning Tower. It was a monument to one man's ego, a shaft of polished glass and steel that dwarfed everything around it.

Its sheer scale was audacious, an obscene display of wealth that made the last two days feel entirely surreal.

Two days ago, he'd been in his cramped apartment, staring at his student loan debt and the bills piled up on a milk crate beside his worn-out sofa.

Two days ago, a voice had told him he was chosen.

The memory of the call still echoed in his mind, the lawyer's crisp, no-nonsense tone cutting through the static on the cheap cell phone he owned.

“Mr. Thomson…”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Brian had replied, his voice rough with skepticism.

“My name is Frank Willstadder. I represent the law firm of Hanno, Willstadder and Sons.”

Brian’s stomach had dropped. “Okay… am I in some kind of trouble?”

“Oh, goodness no, son,” the lawyer had chuckled, a small, knowing sound on the other end of the line.

“Quite the opposite. You have been chosen. You see, we represent Billionaire Ty Dranning. As you may have read in the tabloids, Mr. Dranning passed away, and in his final will, he named nine young men, you included.”

Nine. A shiver had run down Brian's spine. The number was so specific, so strange. He couldn't imagine why a billionaire would name him, a nobody from the Midwest, in a will alongside eight others.

“You, along with the eight others, are invited to come meet us here in Los Angeles. Here the final will and testament will be read out loud. There are conditions that must be met, and the one who first completes the final request of the will… he will be the sole heir to Mr. Dranning’s fortune.”

The promise of inheriting everything was staggering, but it was the next detail that had truly hooked him, making this seem less like a scam and more like a bizarre reality.

“But all who show up will be granted five hundred thousand dollars no matter what,” the lawyer had explained.

That was it. That was the game changer. A half-million dollars for just showing up.

Enough to pay off every single debt, to buy a small house, to live comfortably for years.

Even if he didn't win the grand prize, he was still going home a rich man. The money was a good-faith offering, a test of who would take the leap of faith and who wouldn’t.

He’d done his research, of course. Ty Dranning was an eccentric, a recluse with a notorious reputation.

Filthy rich and obsessed with beauty, he had commissioned the most expensive and beautiful works of art and architecture in the world.

The tabloids had been filled with pictures of his family…

his wife and three lovers, four women who were all said to be inhumanly beautiful.

They had vanished without a trace the moment he died.

No one knew where or how they had disappeared.

But now, all of that was just a footnote to the staggering news: Brian was in the running to inherit it all.

He had to admit, the man had taste. The Dranning Tower was proof of it.

It wasn't just huge; it was a vertical city of glass, its surface a mirror reflecting the clouds and the endless blue sky of California.

It felt less like a building and more like a work of abstract art, its sharp edges and pristine surfaces hinting at a mind that saw the world differently than everyone else.

“Top floor.”

The words pulled Brian out of his thoughts. An older man, impeccably dressed in a suit that looked more expensive than Brian's car, had stepped out of the building. He radiated an air of authority, his smile practiced and his eyes sharp. He extended a hand, the grip firm and practiced.

“Mr. Thomson. Thank you for joining us.”

The man's hand was soft, almost delicate, but his grip was surprisingly strong.

“Mr. Willstadder?” Brian asked, the name feeling strange on his tongue. He had only ever spoken to the man over the phone.

A smile, quick and fleeting, touched the old man’s lips. “Yes, sir. Now if you’ll follow me.” He held the glass door open, revealing a lobby that was as much a work of art as the exterior.

Brian stepped inside, and the temperature instantly dropped.

The air was cool and crisp, tasting faintly of ozone and expensive air fresheners.

The low hum of a central air system and the soft click of Brian's shoes on a vast, polished marble floor were the only sounds.

The entire space was stark and minimalist, decorated with a single, massive sculpture made of what looked like shimmering chrome.

It twisted and coiled, reflecting the lights of the lobby in a mesmerizing, almost hypnotic way.

Brian followed Willstadder toward a set of elevators, his eyes still scanning the opulent, unnerving space.

He had never been in a place like this before, a place that screamed of money, power, and secrets.

As the elevator doors hissed open, the air inside was even cooler, and Brian wondered what other surprises Ty Dranning had in store for him.

The man was eccentric, after all, and if his building was any indication, this "final request" was going to be anything but simple.

The lawyer, Frank Willstadder, pressed the button for the top floor. Not the very top, but the one before it. The elevator screen lit up with the number 99.

“Damn,” Brian whispered, the word escaping his lips without a thought.

Willstadder’s lips quirked into a dry smile. "I'm afraid from there we must take the stairs to the very top, the one hundredth floor. It’s a private penthouse, where Mr. Dranning wanted the will to be read."

Brian nodded, trying to process the sheer audacity of it.

He’d been in the Salesforce Tower in San Francisco, but had never made it to the sixty-fifth floor.

He never imagined he would stand a hundred floors above the streets of any city unless he was flying in a jet.

The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Just to inform you, only four of the other eight have decided to join us,” the lawyer said, his voice dropping to a confidential tone.

Brian's heart sank a little. He couldn't imagine anyone turning down a half-million dollars. It had to be a test. Maybe they thought it was a scam, or maybe they were already so rich that five hundred thousand dollars wasn't worth the flight.

The elevator doors hissed open, and Brian's breath caught in his throat.

Before him was a vast, open lobby, the entire curved wall made of floor-to-ceiling windows.

The city of Angels was splayed out below, a sprawling carpet of glittering light and a web of roads that stretched to the horizon.

The view was almost too much to take in.

He stepped out of the elevator and, as if drawn by a powerful magnet, walked to the glass.

Looking down was a little more visceral than he expected.

The cars were like toys, the buildings little Lego blocks.

A faint wave of vertigo washed over him, and he instinctively took a step back.

"Damn," he said again, a soft sigh of disbelief.

It was a word he was sure he would be using a lot here.

“If you follow me, please,” the lawyer said, his voice calm and steady.

Brian nodded and followed him to a hidden stairwell.

The stairs were made of a dark, polished wood, the railing a smooth metal that was cool to the touch.

Each step felt like a climb up a pedestal.

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, a mixture of nerves and pure adrenaline.

The air grew thinner with each step, but the air conditioning kept it crisp and fresh.

Finally, they reached the top. Brian stepped out onto the one hundredth floor of the Dranning Tower.

The space was completely different from the minimalist lobby below.

It was a study in old-world luxury, a penthouse that was less office and more a private sanctuary.

A young woman greeted them. She was, as Brian would later recall, a blonde dream.

Her hair was a cascade of platinum waves that fell perfectly over her shoulders.

Her skin was flawless, her lips a soft, rose-colored pink, and her eyes were a startling, intelligent blue.

She was dressed in a simple but elegant black dress that highlighted her slender frame. A goddess in her own right.

“Good morning, Mr. Thomson. Can I offer you anything to drink?” she asked, her voice as smooth and sweet as honey.

“Water, please,” Brian managed to say, his voice a little hoarse. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from her.

She smiled and nodded. "If you'll join the others, I'll bring it right in."

The lawyer opened a massive mahogany door, and Brian stepped into a room that was the definition of quiet power.

The first thing he noticed were the four other guys.

They were sitting on plush leather chairs, arranged around a large, circular glass table in a way that felt both formal and intimidating.

They looked at Brian as he entered, their gazes a mix of curiosity and cold appraisal.

Brian took them in, trying to find a face he could relate to.

Two of them were clearly from old money.

One, a man with a sharp, angular face and slicked-back dark hair, was dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than Brian's yearly rent.

He sat with a casual confidence that screamed entitlement.

The other, with a rounder, softer face, was in a crisp polo shirt and expensive loafers.

He was studying a gold watch on his wrist, a look of bored impatience on his face.

Their eyes, though, were identical: full of a greedy ambition that was both obvious and unappealing.

They were here to win, and they didn't care who they had to step over to do it.