HEIR TO POWER

The rain had a bitter sting that night, sharp like the laughter behind him. Robert Elba stood frozen outside the rusting gates of Orton Tech, his cardboard box of personal belongings soaked and sagging in his arms.

Computer mouse. Half-dead cactus. A mug that read: “World’s Okayest Developer.” All dumped into the box like garbage. Like him.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jason Ford, the CEO, had said with a shit-eating grin. “We’re trimming the fat. You were dead weight, Rob.”

Then came the coins, He hadn’t seen them coming until they clinked around his shoes, loose change thrown from Jason’s palm like he was tipping a street performer.

“A little something for your troubles,” Jason had said, loud enough for the whole office to hear. The marketing interns snorted with laughter. HR didn’t even look up.

Robert didn’t bend to pick them up, Not until they were gone, Now he stood in the rain, staring at the small pool of coins that glittered like mockery in the streetlight. His fingers twitched. Pride and poverty had a cruel way of shaking hands.

He knelt. One by one, he picked them up, The bus ride home was quiet. Wet. Humiliating.

He sat at the very back, the cardboard box resting on his lap, his suit jacket clinging to his back like wet tissue.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the cracked window, unkempt hair, bloodshot eyes, face too thin. He looked like a man life had forgotten. “Next stop: Hollowbrook.”

He stepped off into darkness.

The apartment complex was worse than usual, graffiti across the mailboxes, the hallway reeking of mold and broken promises. When he reached his unit, 4C, the lock was jammed again. He jiggled it for five minutes before it finally gave.

The inside was as cold as the night outside. His fridge hummed like it pitied him. One egg. A wilted piece of bread. No milk, His phone buzzed on the counter.

One New Notification.

It was a photo. From Vanessa Shaw, His ex. Her arm curled around a man in a designer suit, champagne in hand, both grinning at some rooftop party. The caption read: "Upgrades are everything. Some people stay losers forever."

Robert stared at it for a full minute. Then he placed the phone face-down, went to the couch, and sat in silence.

Morning came too bright and too fast, He woke up to a knock, Not a polite one. It pounded like a warrant. He opened the door and saw Tony, his cousin. Tony sneered the second their eyes met. “Damn, you look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Robert said, voice hoarse.

“You still owe Mom three hundred bucks. Told her you’d have it last week.”

Robert looked down at his threadbare socks. “I got fired.”

Tony laughed. “Again?”

Robert shut the door in his face, The day passed in a haze. No interviews called back. His bank account hovered just above zero. His world had shrunk to the size of his failures.

By sunset, Robert walked aimlessly through downtown, no destination, no umbrella. Just the same clothes, same thoughts, same aching weight in his chest.

When he reached the corner of Brookline and 8th, he sat on a bench and stared across the street. A billboard advertised luxury condos: “Where Kings Wake Up.”

Robert chuckled dryly. Then something strange happened. Engines, Six black vehicles, sleek, polished, and completely out of place, turned the corner and stopped in front of him. Not a screech, not a honk. Just quiet, calculated power.

The lead car door opened, A man stepped out, Tailored three-piece suit. White gloves. Silver cufflinks. Mid-40s. Black hair slicked back with military precision.

He approached. “Robert Elba?” the man asked in a deep, cultured voice.

Robert blinked. “Uh... yeah?” The man bowed.

Bowed.

“My name is Thomas Crane. I represent the Elba Consortium. I’ve come to deliver this.” He extended a black envelope sealed in gold wax.

Robert stared. “Elba... Consortium?” he echoed. “What is this, some kind of scam?”

“Not at all, sir. You are the last living blood heir of Raymond Elba, founder and chairman. Upon his passing, his will named you the sole successor.”

Robert laughed out loud. “Is this a prank? I didn’t even know the guy. My dad died when I was seven.”

Thomas didn’t flinch. “Yes,” he said simply. “Raymond Elba was your father.”

Robert opened the envelope with trembling fingers.

Inside: A letter in elegant cursive. “To my son,

If you're reading this, it means the world finally forced me to act, I never had the chance to raise you. But I made sure the world would never forget your name, You are my heir.

Everything I built, every asset, every share, every power, I now pass to you, Use it. Reclaim your dignity. Rebuild your legacy, Or destroy those who laughed at you, The choice is yours.”

Attached: a bank statement, Robert’s eyes scanned it.

Balance: $2,745,000,000.00

His mouth went dry. “What the hell...?” he whispered.

Thomas motioned politely. “Shall we go? Your jet is waiting.”

Inside the convoy, the world changed, Cream leather seats. Silence so smooth it hurt. Thomas poured whiskey from a crystal decanter. “Where are we going?” Robert asked, still in shock.

“To the penthouse in Kingsbridge Tower,” Thomas replied. “Your temporary residence until a more permanent one is selected. Do you prefer New York, Paris, Tokyo, or Cape Town as a base?”

Robert choked on the drink. “I what? I live in a shoebox. You're telling me I can just... pick a city?”

“You can buy the city,” Thomas replied smoothly. “Sir.”

When they arrived, the elevator opened directly into the living room, Glass walls with skyline views. Marble floors. A fireplace the size of his old bedroom.

There was a letter waiting on the bar, Handwritten. Familiar cursive. “Son, You’ve been thrown to the wolves. Now you’ll learn how to lead the pack.”

Robert stood in silence, eyes sweeping across the luxury he never imagined, A part of him still expected someone to shout “Gotcha!”

But no one did, Instead, Thomas handed him a slim tablet. “I’ve prepared dossiers on your enemies. Shall I begin with your former employer?”

Robert looked at him.

Then he slowly sat down on a $20,000 leather armchair. “Yeah,” he said, voice cool now. “Start with him.”

Across the city, Jason Ford raised a glass at a networking party, laughing loudly, He didn’t notice the man in the corner taking pictures, Didn’t know the tide had already turned, Didn’t see his world slipping away.