The Rise of John Raymond

Chapter 43: Enemies Seen and Unseen

The gathering had ended, and the grand hall began to empty, but not without new performances unfolding behind every handshake and smile. John remained in the room longer than necessary, observing the board members now shedding their stiff, corporate masks and slipping into something more personal—strategic, even seductive.

Several of them approached him with warm, congratulatory words and polished grins that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Hands were extended, pats on the back given generously. Some invited him to their exclusive lounges upstairs for a celebratory drink, casually hinting at “getting to know each other better.” Others, less subtle, handed him gift cards to expensive spas or offered free enrollment into elite professional development courses abroad.

John accepted each gesture with the grace of a man who knew too well that most offerings had an undertone. He smiled, nodded, and said all the right things. But his mind wasn’t fooled. He knew what they were doing—testing him, tempting him, trying to pull him in quietly and weigh his loyalty against their own ambitions. He wasn’t new to politics. But this… this was war in velvet gloves.

Then Hera approached him. No drink invitation, no gift card, no casual laugh or charm. Just a folded slip of paper placed in his hand during a brief, calculated handshake.

John’s body went still, but his expression remained neutral. He squeezed Hera’s hand briefly in return, playing the same game—never let them know what you’re thinking. Hera said nothing and moved along, blending back into the sea of board members. John quietly pocketed the note and continued socializing for a few more minutes, making sure no one noticed anything out of the ordinary.

When the coast was clear, he excused himself and slipped out of the hall. Finding a quiet corner on the terrace where the city lights twinkled below like a thousand secrets, he unfolded the note. His fingers felt strangely cold.

The message was brief, cryptic, and deliberate:

“Do not judge a book by its cover. The fruits always reveal intentions. So don’t be blind—open your eyes to see it.”

John read it once. Then again. And again. Five times in total, letting the words etch themselves into his mind.

He leaned back against the railing, gripping the paper like it might disappear. Hera was warning him, but the method was careful and obscure. That meant danger. Real danger.

A riddle? No. A layered message.

The fruits always reveal intentions…

John exhaled slowly. The people who smiled the most often held the sharpest knives. And in this empire built by Raymond hands, there were too many apples that shone a little too brightly.

He folded the note and tucked it into his inner jacket pocket. A quiet dread settled in his chest, but not the kind that crippled—it was the kind that forced a man to sharpen his own blade.

He needed allies. True ones. And wisdom. The kind that only his grandfather possessed.

John headed back to his private quarters. As he left his home office and reached for the door, a presence startled him.

Standing right in front of him, like a ghost materializing from thin air, was Mr. Carter.

John froze.

Not because Mr. Carter had ever posed a threat—but because his timing was too perfect, too silent. And his eyes… there was something unreadable about them tonight.

The two men stared at each other, the air between them charged with something unsaid.

Then Mr. Carter broke the silence.

“Hey John—pardon me—young master,” he said, voice low and eyes lowered slightly. “I just… I just lost my way.”

With a small, almost apologetic nod, Mr. Carter turned and walked off before John could respond.

Lost his way?

John watched him go, thoughts racing. Mr. Carter wasn’t a man prone to forgetfulness. He ran the estate with militant precision. His memory was sharp. His movements always purposeful.

Something wasn’t right.

As John turned to head down the hallway, his foot grazed something on the floor. He paused, looked down, and bent to pick it up.

It was a microchip.

Small, discreet, with a connection frame for a memory card.

His brow furrowed. Had Carter dropped it? If so, how? And more importantly, what was on it?

John tucked the chip into his suit pocket, locking away the question for later. First, he needed to find his grandfather.

He made his way to the old man’s study and rang the bell outside the heavy oak door. No answer. He tried again, longer this time.

Still nothing.

Just as he was about to leave, the door’s panel lit up and a voice rang out.

“Hi, young master. My name is Van. I can access AI intelligence. How can we help you?”

John sighed in relief. The AI’s smooth, polite voice was a welcome break from the strange silence he had been wading through.

“I’m here to see my grandfather. Tell him I’m at his door,” John said.

A short pause.

“That won’t be possible,” the AI responded, voice still gentle. “Your grandfather is currently on the ranch by the east wing.”

John blinked.

“The ranch?” he asked, confusion in his voice.

“Yes, young master,” Van replied. “It spans over ten acres of green land. We also have a stable and an open space for our annual polo games.”

“We host polo games? There’s a lot I don’t know about this place,” John muttered, the weight of the hidden empire around him pressing down more than ever.

“That’s right, young master,” the AI replied. “But we are always here to guide you. A detailed description with visual photos has been sent to your phone to guide you in locating your grandfather. Have a good day.”

John’s phone vibrated immediately. He looked down and saw a precise map, directions, and even live surveillance feeds of the ranch. Every corner of this estate was documented, guarded, and tracked.

“Thank you, Van,” John replied, glancing once more at the door before turning to follow the map.

The images guided him through trimmed hedges, long corridors, and past several outbuildings he had never noticed before. Finally, the expansive green of the east wing came into view.

The ranch.

It was breathtaking. Rows of tall trees, open pastures, white fencing, and sleek black horses that moved with power and grace. The air was clearer here, the silence calmer, but not for long.

At the far end of the stable, John spotted his grandfather.

The old man stood beside a chestnut horse, brushing its mane with slow, deliberate strokes. At his side was the chief butler, who seemed to be checking the horse’s leg for something.

John stepped forward, then hesitated.

His grandfather had that look again—the one he wore when something was eating him from the inside. The ranch wasn’t just a sanctuary. It was where he came to think when the world became too loud.

As John approached, the old man turned sharply, startled by the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Without hesitation, he reached for the rifle resting against the stable’s wall. He cocked it with a speed that startled John.

“Grandpa, Grandpa, it’s me!” John called out, both hands raised.

The barrel paused mid-air.

The old man squinted, lowered the rifle slowly, then barked out a sharp laugh.

“Johnny boy,” he said, stepping forward. “Thank God you spoke on time. One more second and you’d be on your way to the heavens.”

John exhaled, catching his breath as he finally reached him.

“Ah, thank God indeed,” John said, hands on his knees, still panting from the run.

His grandfather chuckled again and patted his back.

“So,” the old man said, “how did you find me? And what drove you all the way out here?”

“I had to see you,” John replied. “It’s urgent. Van told me where you were.”

The old man raised an eyebrow. “Smart system, that Van. But what’s on your mind, son?”

John gave a quick look to the chief butler and said nothing.

The old man caught the glance and gave a small nod.

Without a word, the butler excused himself and began walking toward the other end of the stables.