Prologue
The cell was dark, damp, and reeking of rust. John Mark sat on the cold floor, his wrists heavy with chains, his body bruised from another night of beatings. Yet his eyes burned—not with pain, but with something sharper. He whispered into the shadows, each word etched with fury:
"They took my name.
They took my freedom.
They took everything from me
But they will never take my will.
And when I rise again… I will burn them all."
The sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor, but John didn't flinch. The heir was dead. What remained was something else. A monster in the making.
A son earns his father's praise… and his brother's envy.
The boardroom smelled faintly of polished wood and imported cigars, a place where power was measured not in words but in signatures on documents.
John Mark adjusted the cuffs of his suit, the one his late mother had gifted him for his first day in the family company. He sat at the head of the long glass table, not because he demanded it, but because his father had waved him there with a proud smile.
"You've done well, John," his father, Chairman Mark, said. The old man's voice carried weight, every syllable commanding the room. "The expansion into South Africa? That was your idea. Profits are soaring."
The board members nodded in approval. John allowed himself a small smile, but not arrogance. He had worked for this, every late night, every negotiation. He had earned his father's trust.
Not everyone in the room shared the sentiment.
At the far end, Godwin Mark leaned back, arms crossed, his jaw tight as though chewing on bitterness. His elder brother had the same dark hair and sharp features as John, but where John's eyes held a steady calm, Godwin's carried restless ambition.
"Father," Godwin said smoothly, "you praise John as though he runs this company alone. Some of us have been here far longer."
Chairman Mark chuckled softly, oblivious to the venom laced in his son's tone. "And you've both done well. But John has vision, and vision is what carries a company into the future."
The words struck Godwin like a blade. John noticed the flicker in his brother's eyes, a storm brewing behind the mask of composure.
John wanted to speak, to acknowledge Godwin's contribution, but before he could, the meeting ended. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped.
As they filed out, Sophia touched his arm gently.
"You did well," she whispered.
Her presence was a quiet anchor in his life. Sophia was not just his girlfriend—she was a prosecutor with a spine of steel, a woman who saw truth where others saw shadows. In the courtroom, she was fire; with him, she was warmth.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing enough," John murmured, watching Godwin's stiff back retreat from the room.
Sophia squeezed his hand. "You're doing more than enough. Just don't let the weight of the company crush you."
If only either of them had known what weight was about to come crashing down.
Two weeks later, the storm broke.
John sat in his office when three stern-faced officers walked in, led by Detective Harris, a man whose handshake always felt too rehearsed.
"John Mark," Harris said, his voice carrying false regret. "You're under arrest for embezzlement and tax evasion."
John blinked, stunned. "What? That's impossible. There must be some mistake."
The officers moved with brutal efficiency, seizing his computer, scattering documents. Cameras flashed outside as they dragged him out, reporters already waiting as though tipped off.
Sophia arrived at the station within the hour, fury in her eyes. "This is insane, John. I'll fight this."
But the evidence piled up faster than she could counter. Bank transfers traced to his name. Hidden accounts with millions. A paper trail that painted him as the mastermind of fraud.
John sat in the courtroom, the world spinning. He searched for answers, for any crack in the walls closing in on him.
And there in the front row sat Godwin, face carefully blank, but his eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction.
Sophia rose to defend him, her voice sharp and unwavering. "My client is innocent. This evidence has been manufactured."
But witness after witness was called. Some were men John had once trusted. Others were strangers who claimed business deals with him. Every statement tightened the noose.
The judge's gavel fell like thunder.
"John Mark, you are hereby sentenced to ten years in Blackridge Prison."
Sophia's gasp echoed in his ears. John felt the ground vanish beneath him.
As he was led away in chains, he turned once, meeting her tearful gaze. She mouthed three words—I believe you—before the guards shoved him forward.
In the shadows of the courtroom, Godwin leaned toward Uncle Raymond, whispering with a smirk, "The throne is mine now."
John didn't hear it. He only felt the cold bite of steel cuffs and the shattering of a life he once thought untouchable.
The golden heir was gone. A prisoner was born.