The air in the conference room was thick with tension. Eight of the most powerful men in the country sat around a long, obsidian table, their faces masks of cold calculation. These were the rulers of the eight major provinces—business moguls, political elites, and underworld kings.
At the head of the table sat Ochieng, his expression unreadable.
"Governor Malik is gone," Linet stated, her voice crisp and professional.
The room was silent. They all knew what that meant.
Ochieng leaned back, steepling his fingers. "That leaves us with one problem."
Tielen smirked. "Who fills the power vacuum?"
A short, balding man—one of the province heads—cleared his throat. "With all due respect, Mr. Ochieng, you've already consolidated more power than any one man should. We need balance, not another dictator."
The room went still.
Ochieng's smile was slow, almost lazy. "Balance?" He glanced at Jeff, who was standing behind him, arms crossed. "Jeff, tell me—how balanced was it when Malik orchestrated the death of my parents?"
Jeff's voice was ice. "Not balanced at all."
Ochieng exhaled, his voice sharp. "Balance is an illusion. Power is real."
The balding man shifted in his seat. "What are you suggesting?"
Ochieng stood, adjusting his cuffs. "I take full control. No pretenses. No council meetings. No equal partnerships." He let his gaze sweep over the table. "You all work for me now."
Murmurs of discontent rippled through the room.
A heavyset man with a thick mustache scoffed. "And if we refuse?"
Ochieng's gaze was amused. "Then I replace you."
There was a beat of silence.
Then, Linet pushed a folder across the table.
Inside were photos—private affairs, embezzlement documents, proof of betrayals.
Blackmail.
One by one, the men paled.
Ochieng clasped his hands behind his back. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm informing you of your new reality."
A long pause. Then, one by one, the men nodded.
The empire was his.
---
Later that evening, Ochieng sat in his penthouse, the city skyline stretched before him.
A soft knock at the door.
Linet entered, her silk dress hugging her curves. She poured herself a glass of wine, then leaned against the bar.
"You just made enemies of powerful men," she murmured.
Ochieng smirked. "They were already my enemies. Now, they're just obedient ones."
She chuckled, swirling her wine. "And what about you?"
His brow arched. "What about me?"
She set her glass down, walking toward him. "How long until you become the very thing you swore to destroy?"
Ochieng said nothing.
Because deep down—he had no answer.
---
The city's elite gathered at the Grand Meridian Hotel, a towering structure of glass and steel that symbolized luxury and power. Tonight, the ballroom was filled with some of the most influential figures—CEOs, politicians, celebrities, and underworld figures who operated in the shadows.
Ochieng stepped out of a sleek, black Rolls-Royce Phantom with a custom golden license plate: KING329. He was dressed in a sharp, midnight-blue suit, his presence commanding. Linet walked beside him, her black dress clinging to her like a second skin.
Inside, chandeliers glittered, and classical music played in the background. Waiters moved with precision, serving glasses of expensive champagne.
The moment Ochieng entered, the room quieted. Conversations halted. Eyes followed him.
He was no longer just a mysterious billionaire.
He was a ruler.
Tielen was already at the bar, sipping whiskey. Jeff stood near the entrance, scanning the crowd for threats.
Linet leaned in, whispering, "The governor's widow is here."
Ochieng smirked. "Of course, she is."
Across the room, a woman in a crimson dress met his gaze.
The widow of the man he had just removed.
He walked toward her, slow and deliberate. The crowd parted for him.
She lifted her champagne glass, smiling sweetly. "Mr. Ochieng. It seems you've been busy."
He took a glass from a passing waiter, clinking it against hers. "Just another day at work."
She laughed softly. "And what happens when the empire you built comes crumbling down?"
Ochieng sipped his drink. "It won't."
Her smile didn't waver. "You're sure about that?"
He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "Try me."
The widow held his gaze for a moment before stepping away, disappearing into the crowd.
Linet approached. "She's dangerous."
Ochieng chuckled. "So am I."
---
As the gala continued, Ochieng slipped away to the rooftop. The city stretched beneath him—a kingdom he had built, brick by brick.
But his mind was elsewhere.
On a cold night, years ago.
When he was just a boy.
When he had watched his parents die.
The memory was sharp—his mother's scream, his father's last breath, the sound of gunfire echoing in the darkness.
That night had shaped him.
Had turned him into the man he was now.
A man who would never be weak again.
A man who would never be a victim.
Footsteps approached.
He didn't turn. He already knew who it was.
Linet.
She stood beside him, silent for a moment. Then, softly, "Do you ever think about what it cost you?"
Ochieng exhaled. "Every damn day."
She placed a hand on his arm.
And for the first time that night—Ochieng let himself feel it.
The weight of everything he had built.
And the cost of keeping it.
---