The subpoena arrived on a Tuesday morning, delivered by federal marshals. Santiago intercepted them at the door, then brought the documents directly to Michael's office."Boss, we have a problem."Michael looked up from the report he was reviewing. "What kind of problem?""Federal investigation. Monopolistic practices. They're targeting the combined holdings—yours and B1's." Santiago laid the subpoena on the desk. "Lead prosecutor is someone named Lisa Park. Former corporate lawyer turned government crusader."Michael scanned the document. Extensive. Thorough. Professionally drafted. "She's not messing around.""Want me to call our legal team? Start building defenses?""No." Michael set down the papers. "We cooperate. Fully."Santiago blinked. "Boss, that's—""The right thing to do." Michael stood, moving to the window. "Santiago, we've fought criminals, corrupt executives, people who played dirty. This is different. This is the government doing its job. If there are problems in our o

"I was wrong. The world hadn't decided anything. I just hadn't shown the world what I could become." He paused. "Some of you will leave here and struggle. You'll face people who dismiss you because of where you came from. You'll encounter obstacles that seem impossible. You'll wonder if it's worth trying."He met their eyes directly. "It is. It's absolutely worth it. But here's what they don't tell you—success without integrity is just expensive failure. You can build an empire on lies, but it'll crumble. You can step on people to climb higher, but you'll stand alone at the top."A few students leaned forward, listening intently."I built my first company at twenty-two. Made millions. And I thought that made me successful. But real success?" Michael smiled. "Real success is building something you're proud of. Something that helps others. Something that lasts because it's built on principles, not shortcuts."He pulled out a folded piece of paper—notes he'd made the night before."You'r

Richard Thompson passed on a Tuesday morning, three months to the day after his diagnosis. Michael and Alexander sat on either side of his bed, each holding one of their father's hands as his breathing finally stilled."He's gone," Alexander whispered.Michael couldn't speak. He just sat there, holding his father's cooling hand, trying to memorize the peace on Richard's face.The hospice nurse entered quietly. "I'm so sorry for your loss. He was a good man.""Yes," Michael finally managed. "He was."The funeral was scheduled for the following Saturday. Michael assumed it would be small—Richard had been reclusive, keeping to himself for years.He was wrong.The church overflowed with people. Hundreds of faces Michael didn't recognize filled every pew, spilled into the aisles, stood in the back."Who are all these people?" Michael asked Santiago, who'd come to provide support."People your father helped, apparently. Word spread fast."As Michael walked to the front, he overheard convers