Two days after the funeral. It was almost time for him to receive his money, but Jack didn’t feel excited. He was still staying at his father’s house. The small place in the outskirts of the city was old and worn down, but it was home. Or at least it used to be. It had the kind of smell that came from decades of memories—cooking, smoke, dust, and quiet sorrow. Jack hadn’t changed anything yet. His father's old shoes still sat by the door. His coat still hung from the broken hanger in the hallway. The television remote still sat beside the armchair as if Gudan would return any second to grab it.Jack had barely slept. He spent most of the past two days walking in circles through the house, staring at old pictures, trying to piece together the years he had lost. He ate little and cried more than he ever had in his life. But somehow, the silence of the house gave him a sliver of peace. It felt like he still had a connection to his father, even if the man was no longer breathing.That pea

The next morning was quiet and peaceful, but inside Jack's chest, a fierce storm was churning. He had woken up earlier than usual, well before the sun had finished rising. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the van's curtains. He sat upright and looked around. Fredrick hadn't opened up yet. The van was quiet, and aside from a few distant sounds of the city waking up, there was nothing else. With no distractions around, his mind went to work.He had the money now. A fortune beyond anything he had ever imagined. But now that it was in his hands, the weight of responsibility started to press down on him. His father was no longer around to guide him or clean up his mess. He was on his own, and at nineteen, it was time to stop floating through life. He needed direction, a plan, something concrete. He had to make sure the money didn’t vanish like smoke. It was time to act like a man. He had to open a business, something steady, something that would keep his

Jack turned to Fedrick and winked. The older man was still shocked. A millionaire in his small van. As if Jack could read his mind, he waved through the air dismissively. "Come on, Fedrick, relax, we're buddies now. I have somewhere to be, but rest assured, I'll see you later. Ava, give Fedrick here a hundred dollars." Fedrick jumped and waved his hand like the money was a grenade or something."It's okay, sir, you don't have t.....that food was on the house....and also your sta?.... not that I'm saying you can't afford a place." Jack laughed, and he made sure to give Fedrick a hug. Now it was time. It was time to build his empire.The car rolled through the city’s quiet early afternoon traffic. Jack sat in the backseat of the sleek Rolls-Royce Ghost, gazing through the tinted window at buildings that looked shinier now than they did when he was broke. The streets weren’t different, but something about sitting in the back of the vehicle made the world feel smaller. More accessible.

Before heading back to the hotel, Jack asked the driver to make one quick stop. He had everything he needed for his outer transformation, clothes, grooming, and confidence. But there was something else he knew he needed. Something most people never saw, but always felt. Knowledge. If he wanted to walk into a room full of investors, venture capitalists, or entrepreneurs, he needed to speak their language. Money alone wouldn’t be enough. Not if he wanted to play the long game. The bookstore wasn’t as fancy as the designer boutiques he had visited earlier, but it had a quiet elegance. Shelves stretched high above his head, and the faint smell of paper and ink lingered in the air. It felt like stepping into a world of focus, the kind of place where you didn’t speak unless you had something worth saying.At first, he was tempted to look for a novel. Something light. Something entertaining. But the moment his fingers grazed the edges of those colorful covers, he found himself drifting towar

Jack stood beside a tall wooden bookshelf stacked with leather-bound books that were clearly more for decoration than for reading. The lighting in the room was dim, making every object look expensive, whether it was or not. The event was well into its second hour. Conversations filled the air with talks of trade, market shifts, investment patterns, and business strategies. Soft music played in the background, but it served more as a curtain than a melody. Jack held a glass of water in one hand. He hadn’t touched anything alcoholic. He needed to stay sharp.His black suit fit well. It was not custom-made, but he had taken the time to have it altered just enough to sit right on his frame. His shoes were polished, his posture straight, and his expression relaxed. He held his chin just high enough to look confident, not arrogant. He looked like someone important, someone too focused to be disturbed, and just distracted enough to be interesting. That alone had kept him from being questione