Elijah Schwarzenger Rises To Power

0004

Elijah paced back and forth in the dimly lit reception area of the prison headquarters, his bare feet tapping against the cold concrete. The walls still smelled like rust and old ink, but the confusion clouding his mind was far more overwhelming.

Why am I here? Why didn’t they throw me back in my cell?

He glanced at the ticking wall clock. Twenty minutes. That was how long he had been pacing like a goat tied to a short rope. The officer at the counter kept his head buried in a logbook, pretending Elijah wasn’t even breathing.

“Officer,” Elijah finally said, stepping closer. “Please, just be honest with me—am I about to be executed or something?”

The officer looked up, his expression flat. “Calm down. You’re not going to die. All is well.”

Elijah’s brow furrowed. The phrase "all is well" stabbed at his heart like a hot knife.

Just as he was about to speak again, heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. A squad of fully armed guards marched into the reception area as if they were securing a presidential convoy. A few peeled off and took positions outside the door, their hands firmly gripping their weapons.

“What the hell is going on?” Elijah whispered to himself.

The guards suddenly parted for a tall figure in a fitted black suit as he strolled in with an air authority.

Elijah’s heart skipped a beat. It was the bald man.

But something was different. The prison sandals were gone. His orange uniform had been replaced by clean, ironed silk. And his aura no longer screamed inmate; it shouted absolute authority.

As the bald man walked toward him, Elijah instinctively took a step back.

“Please,” he pleaded. “If you’re going to kill me, don’t confuse me first. Just tell me what I did, so I can apologize.”

But the bald man raised a hand. “Relax, Elijah. Please sit.”

“I should sit?”

Wow.

They both sat, face-to-face, on two metal chairs that the guards had dragged from the corner.

The bald man tilted his head. “I want to ask you something important. Please, answer honestly. Were you born in June?”

Elijah blinked. “Yes.”

“What day?”

“June 30. Twenty-three years ago.”

The bald man froze, taking an exasperated breath. Then, slowly, he smiled. Instead of the wicked grin Elijah was accustomed to, the bald man looked as if he had regained hope that had long been snatched from him.

Before Elijah could process what was happening, a police officer interrupted. “Mr. Lugard, any progress?”

The bald man straightened. “Halfway. Give me a moment.” He turned back to Elijah. “My name is Maestro... Maestro Lugard. I was a butler. I served the wealthiest man in all of Futuriux for fifteen years.”

Elijah's jaw tightened. He was still trying to decide if this was a joke.

Maestro continued, “Then I gave myself a sentence: two decades in this hellhole. I did it voluntarily to help discipline myself and, if luck permits, return happiness to my boss's face by bringing his lost son back to him.”

Elijah was about to ask why, but Maestro suddenly jumped to his feet and stormed outside, as if he had just remembered something urgent.

Some of the guards bowed to him before immediately following.

Elijah rubbed his temples. “No way. This is crazy.”

He stood up, walked to the corner, and leaned against the wall. “So a fellow inmate—a bald thug with cracked teeth—is a butler to the richest man in the country? Am I going insane? What’s happening to me?”

Before he could say more, the loud thudding of helicopters echoed overhead. The walls vibrated so much that Elijah covered his ears.

“What in the name of...”

The door slammed open once again. Maestro returned—this time with even more guards and a greater sense of urgency.

“I need your help, Elijah,” Maestro said, panting lightly. “I beg you. I know this is sudden, but we don’t have time. I must confirm something to be sure.”

Elijah stared at him, baffled. “Help? Please, I demand to be returned to my cell. I didn’t ask for any of this. I just need to lie down. My back is killing me.”

Maestro shook his head. “Forgive me.” He reached into a secure folder and pulled out an aged photograph, placing it gently on the table between them.

Elijah hesitated before leaning forward.

Maestro held it out. “Look at this. Do you recognize anyone?”

Elijah took the photo slowly, unsure of what to expect.

There were five people in it:

— A tall, sharp-faced man with strong jawlines, almond-shaped eyes, and a birthmark just below the left ear—the same one Elijah had.

— A beautiful young woman with soft eyes and the exact dimple Elijah carried on his left cheek.

— A baby boy, not more than a year old.

— His late mother, Albertina. There was no mistaking her: her smile, the tribal scar near her right ear, her hair always parted to the side.

— And a young version of Maestro himself, without a beard, same eyes, same ears, standing in the background like a quiet guardian.

Elijah looked up sharply. “What is this? Why are you doing all this? Am I being tested for something?”

Maestro stepped closer. “Please. That’s the only way both of us might walk out of here today. Don’t you want that?”

Elijah smirked and tossed the photo back. “I don’t know about you, sir, but I don’t want to walk out of here. The people who put me behind bars could still be out there. If they see me free, they might try again.”

Maestro's eyes softened as he knelt beside him. “Elijah, please just try to understand. You’re not safe in prison either. Not for long.”

Elijah sighed, then picked up the photo again and stared at it. “I recognize my mum, Albertina. That’s her. No doubt,” he muttered.

He pointed at the young version of Maestro. “And… that’s you, right?”

Maestro nodded hurriedly, his eyes bright with emotion.

Elijah frowned at the remaining three photos. “This baby… the guy that looks like me… and this woman… I swear, I’ve never seen them before. But they all look like me, especially the man.”

Maestro exhaled, almost trembling. “Because that man is your father, Elijah. And he's my boss.”

Boom! It felt as if something had struck Elijah as he stood up.

First, his mother had told him before she died that his father was a mere peasant farmer who left without looking back after she got pregnant with him.

Secondly, if his father was the wealthiest man in Futuriux, as Maestro had said, why hadn’t he taken care of his mother before and after giving birth to him? Why abandon her to survive by herself at the North River?

Elijah cleaned his ears in disbelief, glancing at the picture again. Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “So, because the wealthy boss looks like me, you're trying to use me to escape from prison? I don’t understand."

Maestro leaned in. "Why would I want to escape from a place I volunteered to be, kid?"

"I don't know, Mr. Lugard or whatever you're called and I also... don't care." Elijah lashed out, casually shoving his hands. "Your reasons are best known to you of course."

He returned to pacing for another few minutes before turning back to Maestro who was already looking helpless. "Come to think of it, yourself maybe you didn't plan your escape well. If you claimed I have a father who is alive and looking for me and by your words, finally getting to see me would be so much happiness for him..."

"Yes?" Maestro unwillingly cut in, skeptical.

"Why is here not here yet. Why is he not the one persuading and begging me to come back home instead of you, his mere butler as you claimed to be?" Elijah hissed before turning to the receptionist at the desk. "Please return me back to my cell now..."

"Hmph! Please, wait.” Maestro groaned, his bones making a creaking sound as he stood up. “Lord Schwarzenger has not set foot in this country for about fifteen good years. Your absence made him so depressed much that his blood pressure rose to the brim on several occasions before the family doctor recommended he relocate to the United States as he would help him back to his feet with time but I promise you, he will be back today, this midnight at most."

"I don't need your promises, please. All I need right now is to go back to my cell and rest my fuckin back!" Elijah declared, leaving no room for Elijah to argue.