The Rise of John Raymond

Chapter 52: The Dream Team

The night’s events still lingered in John’s mind like the lingering scent of an expensive perfume. Every turn, every conversation, every calculated risk he had taken replayed in his head during the drive home. His talk with King, in particular, looped like a film reel—his voice, his measured words, the weight of his praise.

John kept wondering if it had all been a dream. He pinched himself once. Twice. A third time. No—this wasn’t fantasy. This was real. He had stood before one of the most powerful men in the room, earned his respect, and walked away with a treasure beyond value.

The thought of his grandfather came next. John could almost see his face lighting up at the news, that knowing smile that only came when pride and nostalgia collided. His grandfather had taken countless risks in his lifetime, but tonight, it felt like the old man’s faith in him had paid off.

And then there was the safe. Filled with gold. Waiting to be opened. A jackpot unlike any he could have imagined. John grinned to himself in the dim glow of the car’s interior.

The urge to share the news burned inside him. Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and dialed Anna.

The call rang once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing.

"Where the heck did she drop her phone? Later she’ll complain I don’t call her," John muttered, irritation mixing with disappointment.

Then his eyes flicked to the dashboard clock. Four in the morning.

“Right,” he sighed, leaning back. “She’s probably asleep. And here I am, waking her up after disappearing all summer. Smart move, John.”

The exhaustion from the evening finally caught up with him. Every muscle in his body ached for rest, every thought softened at the edges, drifting toward sleep. He thought about the painting—about the code hidden in the brushstrokes—and how he’d unlock it. But the idea faded before it could take shape.

His head tilted back. His eyes closed. Sleep swallowed him whole.

When he opened them again, sunlight was pushing through the blinds in his room, warming his face. Disoriented, he sat up sharply, half expecting to see the leather seats of his car. Instead, his feet met the softness of his bedroom rug.

Somehow, someone had carried him upstairs. He didn’t have to guess who.

John groaned and rolled over, hoping to steal a few more minutes of rest on the darker side of the bed. But instead of peace, he was met with a sight that jolted him fully awake.

Standing silently at the far side of the bed was the chief butler, his posture immaculate, his expression unreadable.

"Jeez, man, why are you here this early?" John groaned, rubbing his eyes.

The butler didn’t flinch. "Your grandfather wishes to see you on the ranch in one hour. He asks whether you would prefer beer or scotch."

The message was clear. This wasn’t a casual morning meeting. This was a summons.

John sat up straighter, the grogginess fading. "Tell him I’ll be there."

The butler nodded and turned toward the door.

"Whiskey," John called after him. "Any day, anytime."

"Yes, young master," the butler replied, disappearing down the hall.

For a moment, John sat there in silence, letting the reality of the previous night and the day ahead settle over him. Then, with a deep breath, he swung his legs out of bed. He was tired, but the anticipation of sharing his news with his grandfather outweighed the desire to lie down again.

A hot shower cleared the last of the fog from his head. He dressed casually, pulling something comfortable from the expansive closet. Every time he stepped inside it, he remembered a time when his wardrobe had consisted of two shirts and a single pair of worn trousers. Torn or faded, he had worn them until the fabric barely held together. The contrast was stark—and humbling.

Leaving his phone behind on the nightstand, he headed out.

The path to the ranch was familiar, the damp soil soft underfoot. Even from a distance, he could see his grandfather riding Stacy, the old man’s favourite horse, moving with the ease of someone who had spent a lifetime in the saddle. Age hadn’t dulled his joy for these simple pleasures.

The chief butler was waiting for him near the entrance to the shed.

"Your grandfather will be here shortly. Please wait inside," he instructed.

John nodded and stepped into the space, finding the same table where they had spoken after his first board meeting. As promised, a bottle of 1980 whiskey and a plate of grilled steak were set out before him. His stomach growled in approval.

He didn’t wait. Fork in hand, he began eating, savouring each bite.

"You must be very hungry!" The voice came from behind him, warm and teasing.

John turned to see his grandfather approaching.

"You bet I am. I didn’t eat all night," John replied through a mouthful of steak.

"Really?" His grandfather raised a brow.

"I saw a lot. Did a lot," John said with a grin.

His grandfather leaned against the table, studying him. "Alright, spill. And I hope you got on King’s good side."

John smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Oh yes, I did."

As he began recounting the night’s events, a vivid memory resurfaced—the moment King had asked him to wait.

At the time, John’s curiosity had been sharp. He couldn’t tell whether this was an invitation or a warning. But he followed King into a private office, taking the seat offered.

"John," King began, his tone deliberate, "you have truly amazed me tonight. Your grace, your composure—my old friend would be proud to have raised such a grandson. The way you handled yourself was exceptional. You’ve embodied leadership far beyond my expectations."

John felt the words settle over him like a heavy, warm coat.

"You passed all my tests," King continued, "and you chose the very artifact I hoped you would. Because nothing here is as it seems. On that note, I am pleased to extend my hand in partnership. I will support you more than I even supported my old friend. I will be just a call away."

John’s vision blurred with tears. "Thank you, sir. I won’t disappoint you."

"Here." King slid a card across the desk. "My direct contact. Call me anytime. And enjoy your gold."

They shook hands, the grip firm and final.

Now, back in the present, John placed the card on the table in front of his grandfather. The old man’s face broke into a smile.

"I am so proud of you, my boy. I knew you could do it."

They embraced, the strength in his grandfather’s arms a reminder that no matter how much had changed, the bond between them remained unshaken.

When they pulled apart, his grandfather took a long drink of his beer, his expression shifting. The pride was still there, but something else flickered behind his eyes—concern, perhaps, or calculation.

John waited.

Finally, his grandfather spoke. "Now I need to get you more tutors."

"More teachers?" John exclaimed.