The night was thick with tension, the city skyline glittering like a thousand unspoken promises. But beneath the beauty, war was brewing.
Ochieng stood on the penthouse balcony, a whiskey glass in hand, his sharp eyes scanning the vast city below. The weight of the revelations bore down on him. Brian Omondi was a puppet to a far greater force—The Wellingtons. A family whose wealth was beyond trillions. A dynasty that had swallowed entire industries whole.
They weren't just powerful.
They were untouchable.
Or at least, they thought they were.
Rolex stepped beside him, lighting a cigar. "The team is ready. We found their hideout."
Ochieng took a slow sip of whiskey, his mind calculating every possible move. "Good. Tonight, we send them a message."
Rolex grinned. "I like this version of you."
Ochieng didn't smile. "This version of me doesn't lose."
---
The Wellington Estate – Underground Lounge
Music pulsed through the dimly lit lounge, where only the elite gathered. Billionaires, politicians, and underworld kings raised their glasses in laughter, unaware of the storm about to descend upon them.
Brian Omondi sat in a private booth, a smug grin on his face. Across from him was Gregory Wellington, the eldest son of the dynasty, a man whose very presence exuded power.
"You did well, Brian," Gregory said, swirling his drink. "Ochieng's still playing catch-up, and by the time he realizes what's happening, he'll be too late."
Brian chuckled. "The fool always thought he could outplay me."
A voice interrupted them.
"That's funny. I was thinking the same about you."
Brian's body went rigid.
Gregory's smirk faded.
Ochieng stepped into the dim lighting, his aura suffocating. Rolex, Walter Glowtune, and three other men flanked him. The atmosphere shifted instantly, the weight of his presence silencing the entire room.
Gregory leaned back, unfazed. "You've got some nerve walking in here, Ochieng."
Ochieng smirked. "And you've got some nerve thinking I'd let you get away with this."
Brian swallowed hard, his confidence cracking. "You shouldn't have come here."
Ochieng took a step forward, his eyes dark as the abyss. "And yet, here I am."
Gregory's lips curled into a smile. "You think walking into my family's lounge makes you powerful? Boy, you're out of your depth."
Ochieng chuckled, pulling out his phone and tossing it onto the table.
A video played.
It was live footage of The Wellington warehouse. The one they used to hide their illegal dealings. Their biggest money pit.
Engulfed in flames.
Gregory's face darkened.
"You son of a—"
Ochieng cut him off. "I don't need to kill you to win, Gregory. I just need to make you bleed where it hurts the most."
Brian shot up from his seat, reaching for his gun.
But Rolex was faster. The barrel of his pistol pressed against Brian's forehead before he could even blink.
"I wouldn't," Rolex whispered.
Brian's breath came out in sharp, panicked gasps.
Gregory exhaled sharply, trying to regain control. "You think this is over?"
Ochieng leaned in, his voice a quiet storm. "This? This was just a warning."
He turned to leave, but not before whispering one last thing to Brian.
"Remember when you said I'd always be beneath you?" Ochieng smiled coldly. "Look around, Brian. Who's kneeling now?"
And with that, he walked away, leaving the world to burn behind him.