All Chapters of Never Underestimate Jamie Luther : Chapter 21
- Chapter 30
30 chapters
21: Jazz and Piano
The Mercedes glided through the city, tires humming over wet asphalt. Jamie sat in the back, the window cracked just enough for the late-December air to bite his face. Kofi’s usual jazz filled the cabin—slow, smoky saxophone weaving through the silence like a memory Jamie couldn’t quite place.He tapped his fingers on the armrest, matching the beat without thinking.Kofi’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, caught the movement, then returned to the road. A small smile flashed across his face for a split second.“You like this one, boss?”Jamie’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Coltrane?”“’59. My Funny Valentine.” Kofi’s deep voice carried a hint of pride. “Old, but gold.”Jamie nodded. “My father hated jazz. Said it was noise for people who couldn’t read sheet music.” He paused, watching streetlights blur past. “I used to sneak records into my room at boarding school. Thought I was rebelling.”Kofi chuckled softly. “Rebelling with Coltrane. Dangerous man.”Awkward silence. Like t
22: Gus VIGNA
Jamie woke up happy. It was a strange feeling—light, like an early joy buzzer. Sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains of his old bedroom in the Luther family mansion, the same room he hadn’t slept in since college. Mama Vee had made it up for him yesterday, fresh linens, pillows fluffed, even a small vase of white roses on the nightstand. .He lay there a moment, staring at the familiar ceiling, letting the quiet sink in. The place still smelled the same, Like money.Yesterday had been heavy—the hug with his mother, the words from his dad, the piano notes that had carried everything he couldn’t say. It felt like free therapy.But waking up here, in this bed, with the faint smell of polished wood and old books… it felt like a small victory.His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Email from David.Two new investor proposals. Twenty fresh talk-show invitations. Stock holding steady—no further drop.He smiled.He dressed; dark jeans, cashmere sweater and headed downstairs.Mama V
23: Devil in an orange dress
Two days until the interview.Jamie stood in front of the full-length mirror in his penthouse closet, the lights on auto-dimming, mirrors reflecting every angle like a hall of infinite selves. He pulled the Tom Ford charcoal three-piece suit from the rail—midnight wool with a subtle herringbone weave, shoulders cut sharp but not aggressive. The vest hugged his frame perfectly, the tie a slim black silk knot. On his wrist: the vintage Patek Philippe Nautilus, white-gold case with a glacier-blue dial that caught the light like frozen water. 38mm—understated, but the kind of watch that whispered fortunes without shouting. He rolled the sleeve down once, twice, checking the fit. No bracelet. Less was more when the words had to cut deeper than any accessory.Kofi watched from the doorway, arms folded, giving a single nod of approval.“Looking like death, Sir.” Kofi said, voice low.Jamie’s mouth curved. “That’s the point.”The day before had been quiet, no prep. Just Jamie, tea, talks with
24: A little too late
Francesca stood in the middle of Fred’s living room, phone clutched in one hand, the other pressed to her mouth like she could physically hold in the scream building in her throat. A scream that threatened to shatter the fragile facade she had so carefully constructed.The numbers stared back at her from the laptop screen on the coffee table, mocking her. Could it be the fall before the rise?Fems stock: down another twelve percent overnight. A freefall.Frans & Co: bleeding clients—three major investors had already emailed withdrawals this morning. The lifeblood draining away.Forty percent total drop since Jamie’s interview aired two days ago. Her empire crumbling.Two days. Two days to ruin everything.Deep down she felt it she knew it even. She knew she had messed up big time. She knew she had somewhat underestimated Jamie freaking Luther. She knew she had to do something but what exactly?She felt the room tilt, the expensive furniture blurring at the edges of her vision. The ai
25:Eve
The private jet banked gently over the coastline, the late-afternoon sun glinting off the ocean below like fallen stars. Christmas Eve. For the first time it no longer happens to be Francesca's favorite. The cabin was warm, the air scented with the leather seats and Fred’s cologne. Francesca sat by the window, blanket draped over her lap, staring at the clouds as if they might offer answers. A way out. A sign. Anything. The interview was still a strong blow for her. Not literally, but she felt like she had been slowly recovering from a drunken mess.Her phone had been on airplane mode since takeoff. A brief respite from the chaos. From the now trending and humiliating hashtags. From the clips or her last update of crying on social media. From her videos in general. All mocking her.Damn it! Damn her stupid plan.She switched it back now, heart already thudding. Anticipating the storm.Notifications flooded the screen. Something caught her eyes.Ten missed calls from Omalicha—yesterd
26: It's a contrast
Christmas morning light poured through the tall windows of the mansion, soft and golden, turning the polished floors into rivers of warmth. The tree in the great hall still glittered with last night’s ornaments, gifts scattered beneath it like colorful wreckage from the staff’s midnight opening tradition. Laughter from the kitchen carried faintly—Mary and Veronica arguing good-naturedly over who made the better cinnamon rolls. A fleeting moment of normalcy in a world of chaos.Although it wasn't his style but Jamie loved it. Well, at least his mom loved it yesterday.Jamie stood in the doorway of the music room, coffee in hand, watching Silas. A silent observer.Silas was wiping down the already-spotless grand piano with a cloth, movements slow, deliberate. Too deliberate. Too studied. Every time a security camera in the corner whirred softly to adjust its angle, Silas shifted—just enough to keep his face out of frame. A practiced evasion.Like he trained just for that.Jamie had noti
27: You owe me
Boxing day. The day after felt different. Lighter. Jamie sat in the mansion’s home office—dark wood paneling, leather chair, the faint scent of pine from the Christmas tree still lingering in the halls. Morning light slanted through the windows, catching dust motes in the air like tiny, shimmering stars. He wore a simple grey sweater, sleeves pushed up, coffee cooling on the desk. Comfortable. At peace.His phone buzzed. David.Jamie answered on speaker.“Morning, boss. Quick update—Biiite Games & Apps is up another three percent overnight. Steady climb since yesterday.” The numbers spoke for themselves.Success already. Impressive. Jamie knew he haven't even done anything yet.Jamie leaned back, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “The trend?”“Teen streamer—Alita Amerigo. Seventeen, Guseppe’s little sister. She’s got two hundred twenty thousand live viewers right now playing one of our older titles. Chat’s exploding. Hashtag #AlitaChallenge is trending worldwide. Kids are buying in
28: Gamer
"Yooooo! Welcome viewer 'Magestic killer's' and I see you 'Boss master Gee'. Thanks for the crystals" Alita Amerigo sat cross-legged on her bed, ring light casting a soft, almost ethereal glow over her face, headset snug over her dark curls. The stream title blazed across the screen: Alita’s Challenge Run – Day 47 | 250k strong? Let’s hit 300k tonight! The goal was in sight. The pressure was on. Chat scrolled like a waterfall, a torrent of emojis and messages.She leaned into the mic, voice bright, a touch of playful defiance in her tone. “Okay, guys, we’re grinding the boss level again. If I die one more time, I’m blaming the lag, not my skills.” A well-rehearsed line, she was certain to practice that in front of the mirror last night. Knowing the mass already got invisible beef with her, she knew they would call her out for being 'over privileged ' or just a random jobless 'nepo baby'. She just got done with high school and is planning on studying computer science in college.
29: Ball drama
30 December , The end of the year. A time for endings and beginnings. And a time for reckoning. Was it though?The Grand Ballroom of the Boston Harbor Hotel glittered like a jewel box—chandeliers dripping crystal, tables draped in midnight blue, the city skyline a silent witness beyond the windows. The end-of-year gala was the kind of event where fortunes were made with a handshake and reputations destroyed with a whisper. A stage for ambition, a playground for power.Eleanor's playground. She practically grew up in such places and sticking Jamie in was a lil way of still apologizing for being a bad mom.Jamie arrived with Eleanor on his arm, their entrance carefully orchestrated for maximum impact. Well, Eleanor did most of the charades. She was somewhat desperate to prove she was back in action and at the same time save her son's name. She might have been a bad mom but Jamie was still her baby and she rather have the media talk about this ball them something else."Thanks for th
30: New year plans
Midnight, December 31. The dawn of a new year. A time for resolutions and regrets. And a time for Francesca to seize control.The Blackwood estate erupted in cheers as the clocks struck twelve. Fireworks burst over the ocean, painting the sky in gold and crimson, a fleeting spectacle of manufactured joy. Champagne corks popped, releasing a torrent of effervescent promises. Laughter echoed through the open French doors, a cacophony of forced merriment.Francesca stood on the terrace, phone in hand, blanket wrapped around her shoulders against the biting chill. The cold seeped into her bones, a reminder of the emptiness within.The family photo from Christmas Eve stared back at her from the screen—perfect smiles, perfect lighting, the epitome of false happiness, posted with the insipid caption New Year, new beginnings.Twelve thousand likes. A pitiful number compared to her former glory.Her last live stream had pulled two million views, a testament to her influence and reach.This phot