The Billion-Dollar Choice

 

An older man with gray hair and a wheelchair sits across from a shocked young man in a worn denim outfit inside a luxurious gold-trimmed mansion. In the background, armed security guards stand near a large window that overlooks a tiger resting in a courtyard, while an ornate golden chandelier with a face hangs from the ceiling.

The Journalist

My name is Tommy Leo. I graduated from the university with a degree in sociology. It has been a hard time getting a job, and I could only watch as they told me, "We need just doctors and nurses." I watched day by day with frustration as I became desperate for a job. I cried at times when I thought of how people who graduated with me are working while I roam the street looking for a job that is too hard to get.

One day, I met a friend named Tony who advised me to go and take a course in journalism. I was skeptical at first. I asked him if he thought it was easy to finance the study knowing I'm broke and jobless. I told him I don't have the mentality to "find a scoop." I told him the work of a journalist is a frustrating and unfulfilled job.

"How can you expect me to interview someone who has eaten while I can't even know where my next meal will come from?" I asked him.

"Calm down," he had said. "Don't look at the black side of things always; look at the positive side."

"What positive side?" I asked, getting angry at him. "How do I get the money for the course? I couldn't even think of my rent, which is about due, and I got a heart attack thinking of how I'm going to pay for it."

"Don’t worry about the fee; my organization will handle it," he had said as I was about to walk out.

"Why me?" I asked him.

"You're my paddy. I can't see you suffering like this without doing something."

"And the 'something' you are doing is to turn me into a journalist? Have you seen their shoes? Have you seen how they trek? Have you seen how they suffer under rain and sun just to get a scoop?"

"Don't look at the downside. Just try it and if it doesn't work, I will come up with something else."

"Why not come up with something else now?" I asked angrily.

"There is nothing for now," he had said.

I listened, and at the end, I had taken the course. It was a two-year course and I struggled with anger and frustration, but at the end, I got the certificate and a license to practice journalism.

The Call

After the two-year course and the certificate, I started hunting for a newspaper that would give me a chance. I got angry again as it was getting frustrating again. I was mad at my friend for making me waste my time for two years getting a certificate that no one wanted to employ me for. I thought I was cursed; the wait and the rejection were too much.

Then my friend, who had talked me into doing the course, found a job for me in one of those big newspapers. I was shocked when he visited me and dumped the appointment letter on me as I rested on my bed.

My eyes bulged as I read the letter. "Wow!" I exclaimed. "Finally, a job?" I looked at him and I could see the grin he was trying to hide.

"Spill it out, let me hear it," I said.

And he roared with laughter. "Look at you, jumping like a kid," he said.

"Yes, I will be a kid again if it would give me a job," I said.

I read the letter and I saw where they wrote: "You will be paid based on commission and how well your article performs in the general public." I frowned and showed him the clause.

"Don't worry," he said. "It will be alright; that is like a probation."

I nodded, and that was how I became a newspaper man for this popular outlet. Ironically, I thought it would be easy. I thought I would just be monitoring the latest scandals on social media and then writing about them or doing one or two interviews. No; I was posted to the highway. It was a boring post, and all I saw was cars speeding left and right. There was no scoop here, just the boring interval of coming and going cars. It was so frustrating that I found a nice corner along the road to have a nap now and then.

I thought I had a job, but now I knew I had nothing—just the wind blowing at my face as the cars sped by. It was so frustrating until I received the call. It was strange, and the voice sounded weak on the other end.

"Hello?" I answered as my phone rang. It was a private number.

"You Tommy Leo?" the voice at the other end asked.

"Who is calling?" I asked.

"Answer me." Even though it was a weak voice, it was commanding.

"Yes, I'm Tommy Leo."

"That is good. I have a story and I want you to write it for me; you can publish it in your paper."

"What sort of story?" I asked.

"The life and times of Abraham Grant."

At first, I thought it was a joke. I thought it was someone making fun of me. I thought it was someone who had seen how frustrated I was and wanted to make sure they rubbed more salt into my injury. For the record, Abraham Grant is the wealthiest man in the United States; he owns practically everything ranging from hotels, casinos, soft drinks, real estate, banks, and industries. He was rumored to be worth about $2 trillion dollars.

I sat there stunned, still holding the phone to my ear, not sure what I was hearing. "You still there?" the voice asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Are you ready for the interview?"

"Where?" I asked.

"My mansion. A car will be there to pick you up."

"You know where I am?" I asked, looking around.

"Sure. On the highway, under a sapling tree."

"Yeah," I said.

And the line went dead. I sat there wondering if it would really come to an interview with the richest man, or if it was just a prank from a wicked person. I was still organizing my thoughts when a black Mercedes-Benz stopped just a few meters from where I was lying down, and the horn was blown to get my attention. I hurried to the car and the door was opened by a young man who just smiled and asked, "You Tommy Leo?"

"Yes."

"Please get in. Mr. Grant is waiting for you."

I entered the car and I was just open-mouthed at the beauty I saw. It was a car I saw pass the highway every day, and now I was sitting inside. The air-conditioning was damn good after my overstay under the hot sun. I sat there clutching my tools as the car sped away.

The Interview 

As the car sped away, Tommy Leo sat in the posh leather seat of the car. He could feel the sturdiness and he mentally swore he was sitting on $2 trillion. He looked at his worn-out shoes that had done a lot of trekking and his faded pants that had seen many summers and winters, and he wondered, Why me? What have I got that would attract a man like Abraham Grant? he thought. He nervously looked at the driver who was studying him from the rearview mirror.

"Relax, man. You need not worry," the driver said.

"But why me?" he asked.

"No idea. I was asked to pick you up and that is it." The silence stretched as they drove along the highway toward the Grant mansion.

When they arrived at the mansion, he just sat there with eyes going wider and wider as they neared. He could see the house was made of real gold and the compound was like a small football field. He nervously clutched his tools as he saw a live lion and a tiger just a few meters from the entrance of the large double doors. He could see the security men with assault rifles watching him, and he wondered what they saw in him that they were focusing on his person.

"Don't be afraid," the driver of the Benz said as he ushered him into the house.

He stopped dead at the door as he saw the interior. "Is this possible?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" the driver asked.

"Nevermind," he said as he looked around the house. He swore he had left Earth for another planet. It was amazing how one could spend so much on decoration. He stood there open-mouthed as the chandelier had a voice like an opera singer.

"Welcome to the humble home of Mr. Abraham Grant," it said.

Internally, he just shook his head for calling a billion-dollar house a humble home.

Tommy Leo was asked to sit, and as soon as he sat down, he could feel the comfort of the seat. He was surprised to see that the couch molded to his shape. He reflected on his little patch under the sapling tree and he shook his head in wonder; so life like this is an everyday habit in some people's homes while I sweat under the sun.

A tap on his shoulder alerted him of someone, and he wondered how long they had stood there. "Yes?"

"What would you like to drink? Wine or whiskey?"

"I'm on a job; water would do."

"Alright, just a moment." A few minutes later, his preference was brought and he sipped it nervously. He was just about to ask for another when he saw him. He was in a wheelchair and he swore he could see his own face in Mr. Abraham Grant; if he is young, then Mr. Abraham is the older version of himself. He hurriedly stood up.

"Please sit down," the richest man said to him. He sat down and he could see that he was old, in his late 70s, with gray hair all over and no single black; a strong chin with eyes as brown as the summer leaf, a hooked nose, and a perfect set of teeth when he smiled—and he was doing that right now.

"Eh, thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Grant," he stammered.

"What opportunity?"

"The interview."

Mr. Abraham Grant had a laugh at that. "Oh, Tommy, wait till you hear the story. It would be up to you. Do you want an edited version or just the raw truth?" he asked. "Don't worry, I don't want to delay any more, so I will get started. But first, just know this interview has to do with you, too."

"Me? How?"

"Bring out your tools. I will start now."

And he started telling a chilling story that Tommy Leo knew he wouldn't be coming out of alive unless he made a choice. There should be no delay, for they needed that choice now, and he had until one hour to decide if he would agree to Mr. Abraham Grant or if he would stick to his dignity.

Abraham Grant Speaks

My name is Abraham Grant and I grew up in one of the poorest slums in the city. My father was a just and honest man who lived a good life and never took what didn't belong to him; he had a belief that you work for what you want and earn it by merit.

Some days we went without food, and as a kid back then, you could hear me and my sister wailing. We cried our eyes out till tears were even afraid of us. It was a bad way to grow up and today, when I look at this house and the money I have made, I just laugh. If only they knew.

"Know what?" Tommy Leo asked, as he posed with his journalist tools, wanting to capture every word.

Abraham Grant laughed. "Do you think you will be able to publish this story when we are done?" he asked him cryptically.

"Sure. I'm a journalist; that is my job."

"We will see," was Abraham Grant's reply.

"So, we were this poor and even the rats couldn't enter our home, knowing they would find nothing. My mom and my dad bickered and she wondered how did she end up with a loser like him? How could love blind her, thinking an honest labor and love is all she needed? Anytime she looked at us, her two kids, and saw our ribs poking out and our emaciated bodies, she would weep. But she too had the same thing like us, but she could endure as she is an adult, but we the kids, we were always weak and hungry.

"One day, my dad’s friend visited him. Mind you, our lives were even better than this man’s own, but when he came that day, he was looking good and driving a car. You know, one of those beautiful cars back then. My dad exclaimed, 'Wow! Banky, you're looking good. Is that your car?'

"Banky smiled and said, 'Yeah, that is one of my cars.'

"'You mean you have others?' my father asked with wide eyes.

"'Yes. As a matter of fact, I came here to have a chat with you if you are interested.'

"'Sure, come on in now.'

"'No,' Banky said, looking at my mother nervously. 'Let us talk in my car.'

"And they had gone into Banky's car and had a long talk. I watched as my father made an angry gesticulation and his friend placed a calming hand on his shoulder and muttered some words. As a kid, I couldn't understand those words, but with time, I came to understand those words as I remembered the way his lips formed when he said it."

"What were the words?" Tommy Leo asked.

"'You will kill her.' That was the word."

"Who was he to kill?" Tommy asked.

"My mother."

"But why?"

"Not so fast. We will get there.

"So after a few moments, my dad came out of the car and Banky drove off. My mother berated him on why he didn't ask his friend for help; we never heard the end of the curses she placed on him that day. She gave him a long lashing of her tongue.

"Then after a month, my mother died. It was so sudden. One day she was happy and promising me and my sister a great delight, and the next day she is dead—died in her sleep at 12 midnight."

"What was the cause?" Tommy asked.

"How would I know? In that slum, you see people dying now and then. It is just a daily thing that happens there and everyone will just say it was her turn. After she was buried, my father kicked me and my sister out of the house and said, 'It is time to fend for yourselves. Go out and face the world and don't let the world weigh you down.'"

"Wow! How old were you?" Tommy asked him.

"I was twelve and my sister was ten."

"That is cruelty. I can't imagine a father doing that."

Abraham Grant laughed hard at that. "Oh Tommy, you're so nervous. Wait till my story finishes and then it would shock you."

The Generational Bond

"I started the struggle from that age. Me and my sister slept in incomplete buildings, and I wouldn’t lie—I stole sometimes for us to eat. We fought winter by the grace of the gods," at this he laughed. "I did all manner of jobs. I scavenged and sold things to people who needed them, and I sourced things for those who were willing to pay. It was a bleak life we lived. We wore one clothes for weeks and when I was fifteen, my sister and I parted ways. She claimed she had a good friend who wanted to introduce her into business; I never heard from her again.

The street became my home and I became the street, to be honest. No matter what I do, I never see any progress in my life. Looking at this building and the others I have, or all the business ventures I had established, one would think I was smart or industrious only if they knew the truth."

"What truth?" Tommy Leo asked.

"Oh, we will come to that, and then you too will make your choice."

"What choice? I’m here for the story. If you mean an unedited story or edited story, it is your choice and not mine."

"We will see," was the only answer Abraham Grant gave him.

"So I suffered a lot and no matter what I do, I never had a dollar on me. It is like any money I have vanished. I was going mad and getting frustrated; it was like my life is at an end, like I was walking my last journey and I’m at the finishing line. At twenty years old, I was just sitting along the road waiting for a construction truck to pick me up when a black Mercedes Benz stopped in front of me—just like one did for you," he grinned, "but in this one was my father."

"Your father?" Tommy asked, not sure he had heard him well.

"Yes, my father. And he is old but looking fresh. He asked me to get in the car, that he had something to say to me. Mind you, I had so many plans to pay him back for what he did to me and my sister, but at that moment I was too tired. So I get in and we drove away. He took me to this house."

"Wait, this is your father’s house?"

"Hmm, just wait till I’m done with the story, Tommy."

"Okay."

"So I was sitting down where you are now and he was sitting where I am now. And then he told me that he is an occultic man, that his friend introduced him to a blood covenant society that promised him riches—but there is a price to be paid."

"What price?" Tommy asked.

"My mother, me, and my sister."

"What!"

"If he accepted the deal, my mother would die, and he was to kick me and my sister out so that our suffering would swell his riches. The more we suffered, the more he would be wealthy. And mind you, I did suffer. It was untold hardship beyond extraordinary. So they told him that after some time he would die, and he is to pass his wealth to his son. And when I had my own son, I’m to put him on the street that he may suffer to increase my wealth."

Tommy Leo could only listen, his mind doing a double-take. No, he can’t believe what he is hearing. This is not right. He dreaded to hear the final word of Abraham Grant; as he heard the word suffer, he knew it had to do with him.

"I can see that look in your eyes. I had it too," Abraham Grant said as he watched Tommy.

"Don't say it, please."

"But I have to. It is your turn now. Tommy, you're my son and it is time I pass this wealth to you and the cycle continues."

"How can you have the heart to abandon your kid?"

"To be wealthy is to have many burdens and obligations, and once I tasted it, I knew I can never turn back."

"And your sister?"

"Dead."

"How?"

"She was the price I paid—for you, too. All your suffering fueled my wealth. It made me the richest man and I’m passing that to you now."

"What if I don’t want it?"

"Then the bond would be broken and everything will be lost to the sands of time."

"And me?" Tommy asked.

"Your destiny is tied to the wealth. So if you broke the bond, it would be useless. You will work hard but you will never make it because you have broken the bond."

"So it is my choice now?"

"I told you, the choice would be yours."

"So it is either I choose the wealth or I choose to become useless?"

"Yes."

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course, but you can never leave here until your choice is made."

"And when I choose?"

"Then I would die and all this would be yours, if you choose the wealth."

Tommy Leo sat there, undecided what to do. He had tasted poverty to the very dregs of life and now he is to sit on such wealth. But at what price? At what cost of life? He sat there not knowing what to do as the clock ticked and the hand of decision got closer to him to decide his path.

Dear readers what choice would you make? Let me know in the comment.

Next story:The Two Gods