The Rise of John Raymond

Chapter 37: The New Contract of Doom

Beep! Beep!

John’s alarm echoed solemnly in the quiet of his room. A soft beam of morning light filtered through the sheer white curtains, casting a golden hue across the bedspread. He groaned slightly and rubbed his eyes, his body resisting the call to rise. But he knew better. Today wasn’t one of those days where he could afford to hit snooze.

He dragged himself out of bed, stretched slowly, and turned off the persistent alarm. His mind was already ticking. Today was important. It wasn’t just another meeting; it was the day he would place his signature on the first contract as the heir of the Raymond Empire.

Without wasting time, he changed into his gym gear and slipped on his running shoes. Stepping out into the fresh morning air, John took a moment to appreciate the serenity of his new estate. It was vast and elegantly designed, tucked away in one of the most secure districts—a quiet stronghold his grandfather had insisted he move into after Michael’s sudden assault.

The Raymond family, with all its glory and wealth, had no shortage of enemies. Both internal and external forces constantly circled, waiting for a slip, a weakness, a moment of vulnerability. Now that John was the named heir, he was no longer safe in public spaces or shared environments. This estate wasn’t just a home—it was a fortress.

As he jogged along the perimeter, the cool breeze brushed against his skin and his mind settled into clarity. He thought about everything he had been through in the past few weeks—from being humiliated publicly, to discovering the truth about Noel, to finally embracing the throne that had always been waiting for him. He wasn’t the same person he used to be. There was a weight on his shoulders now, and he welcomed it.

After finishing a solid lap around the estate, he headed inside, dripping slightly with sweat. He made straight for the bathroom and enjoyed a long, hot shower, letting the water wash off the tension. Then, standing before his wardrobe, he carefully selected his outfit for the day.

He chose a grey plaid double-breasted three-piece suit. It gave him a classic yet modern look—timeless but sharp. A crimson red tie cut a bold slash across the grey fabric, and he paired the suit with sleek black sequinned loafers that whispered sophistication. To finish the look, he spritzed a generous mix of Devil Wears Prada and Al Karamahn perfumes—an intoxicating blend of elegance and raw power that would leave a trace wherever he went.

He poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the aroma settling around him like a warm fog. He took a slow sip and glanced at the clock. Right on time.

The black Maybach sent by his grandfather was already waiting outside. The driver stood at attention, door open, ready for him. He stepped into the vehicle with the confidence of someone who had accepted his destiny and was prepared to own it.

The drive to the Raymond mansion took less than twenty minutes. The proximity between his estate and the ancestral seat of power had been deliberately chosen—close enough for convenience, distant enough for security.

As he stepped out of the car, staff lined up respectfully to welcome him. The chief butler, a tall man with dignified posture and silver-rimmed glasses, bowed slightly and gestured for John to follow him.

“The conference room is prepared, Master John. Everyone is waiting,” the butler said.

John nodded and followed.

The atmosphere inside the conference room was rich with power and quiet rivalry. The room, adorned in mahogany and gold, held long glass windows that revealed the estate’s lush gardens. Seated around the grand table were members of the empire’s inner circle. Some he recognised from the last meeting. Others were new, sharp-faced individuals whose presence demanded attention.

He spotted Mr. Shack—rough and solid like stone, the club owner seated beside him, as well as Mr. David, who offered a polite nod. Their eyes watched John intently as he entered, some filled with curiosity, others with caution, and a few with veiled contempt.

Still, John walked with grace, shook hands where necessary, and nodded politely where it was enough. He could feel the subtle dance of ego and ambition around him. Some people smiled and greeted him with enthusiastic warmth, their words dripping with syrup. Others didn’t bother to stand. They sat with crossed arms, faces unreadable, daring him to prove that he deserved the seat he had been given.

He offered them all the same greeting—measured, neutral, dignified. His grandfather, watching from a screen in the adjoining room, smiled faintly. The boy was learning.

After a few minutes of polite chatter and posturing, the grand double doors swung open. Everyone rose instantly.

John’s grandfather entered, regal as always. He wore a navy blue kaftan trimmed with gold. Age hadn’t dulled the strength in his gait or the sharpness in his eyes. A hush fell over the room as he reached his seat and gestured for everyone to sit.

“My friends,” he began, “you know we are no longer strangers here. We are family. Let’s keep this meeting grounded and free. We are building an empire, not a monarchy.”

Laughter rumbled around the room as people eased into their seats.

The secretary, a poised woman with a tight bun and clear voice, stood and handed out tablets with the day’s agenda already loaded. A larger screen behind her displayed the same.

“Esteemed guests,” she said, “welcome to this special meeting of the Raymond Alliance. As custom demands, we begin today by introducing ourselves to the new heir so that he becomes familiar with his pillars of support.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Let’s begin from the left,” she said, pointing at the man seated closest to her.

The man pressed a button on his mic. “My name is Bobby White. I oversee the financials of the Raymond empire’s allies. I am the chief auditor for both domestic and international branches. Young man, it’s a pleasure to see you rise. I extend my support and offer any counsel you may need.”

He deactivated his mic. The next person, a woman with warm brown eyes and a kind smile, activated hers.

“Hi John, I’m Tamara Kings. I run Personnel Affairs. From recruitment to staffing across the empire, I’m your HR person. Congratulations, and I’m here whenever you need me.”

Mic off. The next was Mr. Shack, whose presence alone made the air colder.

“Mr. Shack. I manage the underground networks—gangs, black markets, private enforcement. Everything under the radar flows through me. It’s an honor.”

Then came a tall, broad-shouldered man with a military posture and a deep voice.

“Cole Marine. Head of security across all divisions of the Raymond Empire. I ensure your safety. If you sense a threat, I’ll neutralise it.”

He turned off his mic.

As the next delegate reached for their mic, a voice interrupted.

“She’s not that important here… or am I wrong?”

The words sliced through the room like a blade. Silence fell instantly.

John blinked.

The woman the comment was directed at was stunning. She had long curly hair, pinned neatly behind her ears, and wore a tailored black suit that exuded poise and confidence. She didn’t flinch. But the ripple across the room was instant—eyes darted nervously, chairs shifted uncomfortably, and a few people held their breath.

Cold sweat formed on a few brows.

The man who had made the statement was a sleek-looking middle-aged figure with slicked-back hair, an expensive watch, and a faint smirk that betrayed no apology.

John stared at him.

The grandfather, who had until now remained calm, shifted his chair slightly, observing John’s reaction.