Even as the grand gala continued, filling the Grand Meridian Hotel with laughter, music, and the clinking of champagne glasses, Ochieng knew the real game was being played behind closed doors. Deals were being made. Betrayals were being planned.
And he was at the center of it all.
Leaning against the rooftop railing, he let the cool night breeze wash over him. The city lights stretched endlessly, a testament to the empire he now controlled.
But empires had a way of crumbling.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
He didn't turn.
"I was expecting you," Ochieng murmured.
A deep chuckle. "Of course you were."
Jeff stepped into the moonlight, his hands casually in his pockets. "The widow left the gala early. Had a private meeting with some people you might find... inconvenient."
Ochieng smirked. "Inconvenient?"
Jeff's eyes darkened. "Mafia heads. Politicians. And a very particular foreign investor."
Ochieng turned his gaze back to the city. "So they're making their move."
Jeff nodded. "Looks like it."
There was no urgency in Ochieng's stance. No panic.
Just quiet calculation.
"Let them," he finally said.
Jeff raised an eyebrow. "You're just going to let them plan against you?"
Ochieng's smirk widened. "No. I'm going to let them think they have a chance."
---
Back inside the ballroom, the energy was shifting. The crowd, once purely celebratory, now buzzed with something sharper—anticipation.
Linet moved through the room effortlessly, her black dress hugging every curve as she surveyed the guests. She was good at this—reading people, sensing danger before it fully materialized.
And right now?
Danger was everywhere.
She stopped near the bar, ordering a whiskey.
A voice murmured behind her, "You look stunning tonight."
She turned slightly, meeting the gaze of Elias Moreau—a French investor with ties to the European underground. He was tall, with sharp features and a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Linet smiled, tilting her head. "You flatter me, Mr. Moreau."
He chuckled, swirling his drink. "It's not flattery if it's true."
Linet sipped her whiskey. "And what brings you to Ochieng's gala tonight?"
Moreau's smile didn't waver. "Business, of course."
Linet arched a brow. "With him or against him?"
The Frenchman chuckled. "Does it matter?"
Before she could respond, a presence loomed behind her.
Ochieng.
His arrival was silent, but his presence was overwhelming. The moment Moreau saw him, the Frenchman's entire demeanor shifted.
"Ochieng," Moreau greeted, his voice smooth. "Enjoying your night?"
Ochieng picked up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "It just got interesting."
Moreau smirked. "I was just telling your lovely companion how captivating she looks tonight."
Ochieng took a slow sip. "Yes. She does."
Silence stretched between them.
A battle of unspoken words.
Moreau was testing the waters. Seeing how much he could push.
Ochieng tilted his head slightly. "Let's take a walk."
Moreau hesitated for half a second before nodding.
Linet watched them go, her grip tightening around her glass.
Something was about to happen.
And it wouldn't be pretty.
---
They walked through the dimly lit corridor, the noise of the gala fading behind them.
Ochieng led Moreau into a private lounge, locking the door behind him.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, Ochieng spoke.
"You've been meeting with my enemies."
Moreau chuckled, pouring himself a drink. "You make it sound so dramatic."
Ochieng's expression remained unreadable. "Should I?"
The Frenchman took a slow sip. "Business is business, my friend."
Ochieng stepped closer. "Let me explain something to you, Moreau. There are two types of men in this world—those who make deals and those who set the terms."
Moreau smirked. "And you think you're the one setting the terms?"
Ochieng leaned in, voice like steel. "I know I am."
A flicker of something crossed Moreau's face. For the first time that night, his arrogance wavered.
Ochieng straightened. "Walk away from this, Moreau. You won't like what happens if you don't."
Moreau hesitated. Then, with forced ease, he laughed. "Relax, Ochieng. It's just business."
Ochieng smiled—but his eyes were cold.
"Exactly," he murmured. "Just business."
Moreau lifted his glass in mock salute. "Then here's to profitable ventures."
Ochieng watched him drink, his mind already moving ten steps ahead.
Moreau thought he had options. Thought he still held some control.
He was wrong.
---
As the gala wound down, Ochieng returned to his penthouse, exhaustion settling into his bones.
But the night wasn't over.
A knock at the door.
He opened it—only to find someone he never expected to see.
A woman.
Dressed in red.
Her beauty was dangerous, her eyes filled with secrets.
She stepped inside without waiting for permission.
"Ochieng," she murmured, her voice like silk.
He closed the door, watching her carefully. "To what do I owe this... surprise?"
She smiled. "We need to talk."
Ochieng exhaled slowly.
Tonight was far from over.
--
She walked past him, trailing her fingers along the edge of the sleek black table.
"Your enemies are moving," she said.
Ochieng leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "That's not new information."
She met his gaze. "They're planning something bigger. More coordinated. And they have someone... unexpected backing them."
Ochieng's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
She hesitated. Then, in a whisper—
"Your father."
The words struck like a gunshot.
For a second, Ochieng said nothing. His fingers curled into fists.
"My father is dead."
She shook her head. "That's what you were meant to believe."
The air in the room changed.
Ochieng's entire world had just shifted.
If this was true—if his father was alive—everything he thought he knew was a lie.
And the war ahead?
It was going to be far more personal than he ever imagined.
---