Billionaire by Blood, Not by Name のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

The elevator doors sighed open with the kind of engineered quiet that was supposed to communicate wealth — not ostentation, but power so absolute it didn’t need to announce itself.Noah stepped in.The door closed behind him like a vault sealing.He was alone. For once.No Gareth. No assistants. No Rae whispering about optics. No Lena watching from a balcony.Just him, the walls, and a polished floor so clean it blurred his shoes into something anonymous.The kind of space where sound didn’t echo — it evaporated.He stared at the control panel and pressed 12.Operations.As the elevator began its descent, he felt it in his ears first — that gentle pressure shift, like a plane tipping ever so slightly toward earth. It was subtle, but it grounded him.And still, he wasn’t grounded.Not really.He hadn’t used this elevator before.Most new execs would’ve taken the private side lift. The one that bypassed the common floors. A sleek tunnel between rarefied air and power.But Noah needed to

He was halfway past the data analytics hub — a low-lit zone nested between code review pods and UX testing rooms — when he heard the sharp rhythm of sneakers skidding to a halt.“Hi—uh, hi! Sorry. Mr. Quinn?”Noah turned.An intern.Clearly.She was maybe twenty-one. Tops. She had wide, over-caffeinated eyes and a kinetic awkwardness that vibrated just beneath her skin. Her hoodie — gray with the faded logo of some defunct hackathon — was halfway zipped over a branded Quinn Group T-shirt. Her ID badge swung wildly on a lanyard as she trotted to catch up with him.Tamsin Wei. Strategy & Comms — Intern.Noah raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop walking. She caught up anyway, jogging a few steps, then blurting—“I just wanted to say—I mean—I didn’t think you’d be walking the floor today, which is fine, obviously, but I just thought…”She hesitated, clutching the strap of her backpack like it was a parachute cord.Noah stopped.She stopped too, startled.“Take a breath,” he said, not unkindl

The hallway narrowed the deeper he walked, as if the building itself were trying to decide whether to let him through.Gone were the glass-walled pods and open-concept workspaces. This stretch of corridor was carpeted in a darker shade of gray, the kind that absorbed sound instead of reflecting it. The lights overhead dimmed slightly as he advanced — not flickering, not broken. Just... receding.Like this part of the building was designed to swallow footsteps.The further he moved, the less the world felt digital. The hum of servers and backlit displays gave way to nothingness. Not even a low buzz of electricity in the walls.It was almost too quiet.Almost sacred.At the very end of the hall stood the door.Jet black.No handle. No plaque. No window. Just a single slit beside it — a vertical card reader with a strip of gold light that pulsed every five seconds like a heartbeat.Noah stopped a full six feet away.His own reflection wavered faintly in the door’s lacquered surface.The

The car was already waiting when Noah stepped out of the lobby.It always was.Midnight black. Polished to a high gleam, like it had been detailed during the night. The company’s elite preferred anonymity, but they didn’t mind a little intimidation. Andre stood beside the rear door in his signature black suit and gloves — posture straight, eyes forward, no smile.He didn’t open the door.He didn’t have to.His presence alone was permission.Noah stepped inside without a word. The leather interior creaked beneath him — worn just enough to remember every executive who’d sat here before.The door shut behind him with the kind of sound that didn’t echo — just sealed.And the city began to move past his window.The silence inside the car wasn’t awkward.It was engineered.No ambient radio. No soft jazz. No security updates.Just the low, steady hum of acceleration and the occasional ping from nearby traffic sensors.Andre didn’t ask where they were going. Of course he didn’t.There was onl

The moment Noah’s finger left the glass, the blinking cursor stilled.His words locked on the screen.“Review hiring thresholds. Personally.”Simple. Deliberate. Undeniably his.For the first time since he’d entered the room, no one reached for a tablet, no one adjusted a screen. No one cleared their throat.Even the air seemed to tighten.Davis gave the slightest nod — more a tic than agreement.Pierce looked back down, her stylus still.But it was Rae who moved first.She tapped her tablet twice, and the main screen cleared.“Noted,” she said, voice smooth as silk over glass. “Final item will be informal: department updates, observations, and recommendations for transition clarity.”Transition clarity.A beautiful euphemism.It meant: Tell us how to make the new guy work for you — or around you.Patel was first to speak. Of course he was.Slick, charming, always three layers deep in strategy.“We’re seeing some instability in cross-department communication,” he said, folding one ank