Hunting Down The Billionaire

Noah's POV

I stared at the digital interface blinking at the edge of my vision as an unfamiliar calm settled over me.

If this was a survival game, I wasn't about to spend my first three months playing the role of a tragic sacrificial lamb.

I'd read the novel. I knew what happened to Noah, and I had absolutely no intention of sharing his fate.

My smartphone buzzed against the marble surface of the desk. I picked it up, glancing at the caller ID flashing across the screen.

Brother Ethan.

According to the novel, whenever Noah's younger brother called, it was to demand money, new gadgets or another expensive trip Noah needed to fund. 

The younger brother was currently a college student, and the entire family treated his education as Noah's personal responsibility. Tuition, accommodation, living expenses—if it concerned their precious biological son, Noah was expected to pay for it.

I swiped to answer.

"Noah! Finally, you picked up!" Ethan barked before I could even draw breath. "Where the hell are you? I have been waiting at the airport for hours, and Mom says you haven't sent this week's household allowance."

I glanced at the screen, waiting for him to finish reeling off his complaints.

"Listen, I just landed, and I need a new laptop and some decent clothes. Transfer two thousand dollars to my card right now, then come to the east terminal and collect me."

He paused, apparently expecting me to agree. "And Mom says my tuition payment is due soon, so make sure you have that ready, too."

I almost laughed. The sheer entitlement was breathtaking. These people genuinely saw me—or Noah, technically—as a walking ATM.

"No," I said calmly.

A tense silence followed.

"What did you just say?"

"I said no." I sat back on the bed. "I'm not sending you a dime, I'm not collecting you from the airport, and I'm certainly not paying another cent toward your education."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I'm just done financing your lifestyle."

"You bastard!" My brother's voice rose to a furious screech. "You think because you got some fancy corporate job you can talk to us like that?! My parents raised you! You owe us everything you have! I'm calling Mom right now, you piece of..."

I hung up. For a moment, I stared at the phone.

Then I opened my contacts, selected Brother, Mother, and Father, and blocked all three numbers. I followed that by silencing their notifications on every messaging app I could find.

The weight that lifted off my chest was dream-like. It felt like shedding a lead vest I hadn't even realized I'd been wearing.

Good riddance. Now, about my money, or Noah's money.

According to the novel, Noah was an academic prodigy. He'd earned substantial scholarships, research stipends, and prize money. After graduation, he juggled multiple part-time jobs while building his corporate career. He was also well-paid at Josh Sinclair's conglomerate, where his skills had made him an important employee.

He should have been financially comfortable with all the money he was earning. Instead, his adoptive family had spent years draining his earnings.

His parents had access to several of his accounts and supplementary bank cards, while his brother regularly demanded transfers for personal expenses. The original Noah had allowed this arrangement to continue because he desperately wanted their approval.

He worked himself into exhaustion trying to earn the affection of people who had never intended to give it. What a spectacular waste of a brilliant mind.

Well, that arrangement was about to end. I opened the banking app on my phone.

The first few security checks were straightforward. Noah's biometric information and saved credentials gave me access to his personal accounts, and the financial records laid out the extent of his family's exploitation in detail. My jaw went slack as I scrolled through the transactions. The list went on and on.

These people had practically stuck a straw into Noah and sucked him dry. Unfortunately for them, their personal ATM had just been shut down.

I began reviewing the account permissions. Most of the money Noah had earned was still legally his. His parents just had supplementary cards linked to his personal accounts to allow them limited access to his funds. 

Fortunately, permission could be revoked. I disabled their supplementary cards, removed their authorized access wherever the banking system allowed it, and changed the security credentials on my personal accounts.

There. Clean, simple, and considerably more satisfying than arguing with my unreasonable family.

A soft chime sounded.

[Ding! Security changes confirmed. All supplementary cards linked to the Host's accounts have been deactivated. Unauthorized access has been revoked.]

I blinked at the notification. Wait. That hadn't come from my banking app.

The familiar digital interface flickered at the edge of my vision.

[Host's financial security has been updated.]

I stared at the message. "You can do that?"

Very interesting. I'd need to investigate the system's capabilities later, but for now, I had more pressing matters to attend to.

I leaned back and released a satisfied breath. Between waking up in a fictional world and discovering that I had ninety days to prepare for the apocalypse, I deserved a nap.

Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded behind my eyes.

"Ah!" I clutched my head as a flood of unfamiliar memories surged through my mind. The original Noah's memories. 

I gasped, pressing my palms against my temples as the images grew more vivid.

I saw him hunched over a desk at university, surrounded by textbooks and research papers. I felt his exhaustion after working a full day at the company before heading to a part-time job. I felt his quiet hope that one day, if he worked hard enough and gave them enough, they might finally love him as their own.

Then came the work memories.

The company's office. Meetings. The confidential reports. The faces of colleagues who respected him for his competence. And then there was Josh Sinclair. 

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impeccably dressed. Handsome in an almost unfair way. He was the CEO of Sinclair Group, a technology and logistics empire whose influence stretched across the country.

I remembered the first time the original Noah had been summoned to the CEO's office to present a project report. Josh had sat behind his desk, his attention fixed on the documents in front of him.

He hadn't looked particularly approachable. His dark eyes had moved over the report briefly, and when he finally raised his head, Noah had found himself straightening instinctively.

"You're the one who developed this proposal?" His voice had been deep and controlled.

"Yes, sir."

Josh had studied him for another moment before nodding. "Good work. I want you to oversee its implementation."

The moment replayed in my mind's eye like a video.

In the novel, Josh's wealth and connections would eventually help turn his company into one of the most secure strongholds during the apocalypse. He was also the man who would hold Noah's frozen corpse and confess his love too late. 

Noah was important to the company, but he wasn't close to its CEO. Their interactions were mostly professional, limited to meetings and the occasional instructions. There was no special intimacy between them. At least, not yet.

The memories finally settled, leaving me breathless and slightly nauseated.

I lowered my hands. "Well," I muttered, "that explains a lot."

The system had apparently granted me access to the original Noah's memories. I could navigate his life without stumbling around like a complete stranger. That would make things considerably easier.

It also meant I now understood the full extent of the mess I'd inherited. The family situation was bad enough, but the impending apocalypse was an entirely different problem.

I needed suitable clothing, a secure shelter, and enough supplies to survive when the world began to collapse. And that brought me back to Josh Sinclair.

I turned toward the tablet resting on the desk and opened the calendar. Today was Friday. My official day off.

I rose from the chair and walked toward the enormous wardrobe. Inside hung rows of formal clothing, neatly arranged by color and style. I selected a charcoal turtleneck, tailored trousers, and a black wool coat.

After changing, I returned to the desk and pulled out a notebook. If I wanted Josh Sinclair to take me seriously, I needed more than a wild story about an impending apocalypse. I needed a proposal.

I began listing the things we'd need to survive the coming disaster. A secure location. Independent electricity and water supplies. Food reserves. Medical facilities. Transportation. Security. The list grew longer with every passing minute.

Fortunately, Sinclair Group possessed most of the resources required to make such a project possible. 

One particular warehouse came to mind. It was located outside the city's busiest districts, with enough surrounding land for expansion. According to the novel, it would eventually become the foundation of Josh's survival stronghold.

In the original storyline, Josh had only begun converting it after the disaster struck. By then, countless people had already lost their lives.

I wasn't going to let that happen again.

I needed to convince Josh to begin preparations early. I had no intention of sitting around until Josh discovered his feelings while holding my frozen corpse.

First, I'd get his attention. Then I'd find a way to convince him that preparing for a global catastrophe didn't sound like something from a fantasy movie.

It was an ambitious plan. Possibly an insane one. But I had ninety days, and sitting still wasn't an option.

I wasn't like I planned to leech off him anyways. If his resources could keep me alive, my knowledge of the future could help keep him alive, too.

Ten minutes later, I was seated in the back of a cab, watching the city pass behind the tinted windows. Outside, people hurried along the sidewalks, and businesses carried on as usual.

The world had only ninety days left before everything changed. I watched the city for a moment, then leaned back against the seat.

"Hang on, CEO Josh." A smirk tugged at my lips. "Your favorite employee is coming to change the plot.”