HEIR TO POWER

Chapter 2 – The First Move

The bedroom felt too large for one man, Robert stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out over the glittering skyline of Kingsbridge.

The lights of the city blinked like stars in the concrete night. He had once been just another speck in that sea of insignificance. Now?

He was the storm above it, Behind him, the penthouse stretched like a private museum, furnished in oak and steel, art that probably cost more than his old salary combined.

The air even smelled expensive. Subtle notes of leather, tobacco, and something colder, like old money, Robert turned as Thomas reentered the room, tablet in hand.

“Jason Ford,” the aide said crisply, as if reading a file. “Current CEO of Orton Tech. Net worth: $6.2 million. Grew the company off the backs of underpaid employees. Declining performance masked by falsified projections and creative accounting. He’s under investigation by the SEC, but the case is weak.”

Robert’s jaw tightened. “Why haven’t they nailed him?”

“Because his board members are connected. And investigators are... underfunded.”

Robert walked toward the bar, poured himself coffee from a chrome carafe, and took a long sip. He was still getting used to this, people serving him, calling him sir, waiting for his command. “Let’s make sure they’re properly funded,” he said coldly. “Buy the case. Strengthen it. Whatever it takes.”

Thomas nodded. “Already underway. We’ve also acquired controlling interest in three of Orton Tech’s largest suppliers. By tomorrow, they’ll halt all shipments. The stock will collapse within a week.”

Robert almost smiled, Almost. The next morning, the headlines came like thunderclaps.

BREAKING: SEC Opens New Investigation into Orton Tech CEO Jason Ford

SUPPLIERS CUT TIES WITH ORTON TECH OVER 'FINANCIAL IRREGULARITIES'

Stocks Plummet 32% Overnight

Jason Ford sat in his corner office, red-faced and sweating bullets. He screamed into his phone, demanding answers no one could give. His assistant had already quit. Two board members ghosted him. He had no idea who was pulling the strings, But Robert did.

He watched the chaos unfold on a wall-sized screen while a chef plated his breakfast. Not a fast-food egg sandwich this time, this was poached eggs on avocado toast, with shaved truffle and sea salt harvested from some Icelandic cliffside.

“I could get used to this,” Robert muttered.

Thomas approached with another folder. “Your ex-girlfriend, Vanessa Shaw.”

Robert's fingers paused above the fork, He turned slowly. “What about her?”

“She now works at Clarion PR. Her firm recently signed a seven-figure deal to represent Ford’s public image during the investigation.”

Of course.

The same woman who called him useless… now protecting the man who tossed coins at his feet.

“She’s rising fast,” Thomas added. “But vulnerable. Financially overextended. High-profile relationship with a hedge fund manager is crumbling quietly. A scandal would ruin her.”

Robert tapped the folder slowly, He wasn’t ready to strike yet. Not like that. Not until she came crawling. Publicly. “Monitor her,” he said. “Let her sweat. When she thinks she’s untouchable, then we move.”

“Understood.”

Later that afternoon, Robert was driven to the Kingsbridge Club, an exclusive establishment where billionaires played chess with companies and governments alike.

There were no signs, no ads, just a name etched in gold above a thick mahogany door guarded by men in quiet suits.

Inside, the room hushed as he entered, Not out of recognition, But out of curiosity, Robert Elba, newcomer. Unknown. An untested piece on the board, They didn’t know him yet.

But they would. Thomas led him to a private room, where a woman already waited, Tall, poised, elegant. Ice-blonde hair swept into a perfect twist. Dark red lips that never smiled.

“Elena Blake,” she said, extending a hand. “Head of legal for the Elba Consortium. I handle the parts of the business that never make the news.”

Robert shook her hand. Her grip was strong. “What parts are those?” he asked.

“The parts that decide who gets to stay rich.”

He raised an eyebrow, She smiled faintly. “You’ve inherited more than assets, Mr. Elba. You’ve inherited a war.”

Robert leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

For the next hour, Elena detailed things he’d never imagined: shell corporations in Dubai, offshore networks in Mauritius, tech patents locked in vaults, surveillance contracts with governments he’d never even heard of.

The Elba Consortium didn’t just own companies. It owned influence. Media. Politicians. Elections. Even movements.

But something darker threaded her words. “Your father made enemies,” she said at last. “And some of them aren’t dead yet.”

“Was he... killed?”

“We believe so. He died of a heart attack on paper. But three days prior, he moved $80 million into an unknown trust. One week later, the funds vanished. No paper trail. Not even for us.”

Robert sat back, heart thudding. “He was preparing something,” Elena said. “Or someone.” Him.

That night, Robert couldn’t sleep, He stood again by the glass window, watching the city that had chewed him up and spit him out. He should’ve been angry. Triumphant. Drunk on power.

But beneath it all was one question eating away at him: Why him?

He didn’t know the man who’d fathered him. Didn’t know the game he was now playing, But he knew how it felt to be crushed, And now he had the tools to crush back.

His phone buzzed, A single message from an unknown number: "You’re not ready. Go back to your slum."

Robert stared at it, Then he typed back: "Too late. I'm already in your house."

In a dark office halfway across the world, a man in shadow leaned back from a screen, eyes narrowing. “So the bastard really did it,” he muttered. “He left it all to the boy.”

A second figure stepped forward. “Should we move now?”

The first man smiled coldly. “Not yet. Let the cub grow teeth.”