Tom Goforth Short Story

Tom Goforth took a deep breath and bounced lightly from one foot to the other. He could feel his heart rate increase, and the blood pulse through his face and hands. This was his routine, his ritual before a big presentation. He had to get moving, get his energy up. The crowd could sense his excitement, and it helped get them worked up. And more importantly it sold his product, his brand. He took one last look in the mirror, adjusted his three thousand dollar suit, and stretched his tanned face into the megawatt smile that made him famous. He clicked his tongue at his reflection and walked out onto the stage.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and the rest of you.” He said. The crowd erupted in laughter.
“How many of you are making today, the amount of money …show more content…
He had done this so many times that he could disconnect from what he was saying, just let his mouth run on autopilot while he looked for his next mark. There was always one in the crowd, projecting a sense of weakness, an aura of failure that pulled him in like a moth to a lamp. Once he found the loser among losers, he would focus his attention and make them feel like they were the only person in the room, and that he would turn their pathetic lives around. There in the sixth row. The overweight redhead in the cheap pants suit. She was the …show more content…
The house lights dimmed and the projection of a graph with green bars, the color of money appeared on the wall behind Tom. He pulled a silver laser pointer from his jacket and traced a circle on the right side of the graph.

“Do you see this growth people? I know what you’re thinking, how is it possible to get over a two hundred percent return on your investment? My proven method for buying and reselling distressed properties will give you these kind of returns. There are thousands of people just like you all over the country that have followed my plan and now they are millionaires. Tell me, do you want to be a millionaire? Do you deserve to be a millionaire?” The crowd nodded in unison like a hoard of greed-sick zombies.

Tom removed the laser pointer from the graph, but noticed a red dot remained on the wall. He stopped talking for a second and cleared his throat. He checked his pointer on the floor of the stage, it was working properly. He watched as the red dot slowly moved down the wall, down the bullshit graph of empty promises and settled on the lapel of his suit, glinting off the American flag pin. He smiled at the crowd and made a joke about technical difficulties. Before he could move, the sound of a muffled gunshot rang out through the room, and Tom felt a bullet rip through his chest and exit out the back. The seminar dissolved into a mass of panicked attendees trampling each other