Chapter 3 The Empire's Weight

Ethan's Pov

The city of Lagos sprawled beneath my penthouse window like a restless sea of light chaotic, glittering, alive. Thirty-five story building above Ikoyi's manicured streets, I stood in stillness, the hum of distant generators softened by glass and altitude. In my hand, a mug of black coffee steamed, its bold aroma slicing through the sterile calm of my apartment.

Another day. Another hundred-million-dollar decision waiting to be made.

My smart home system had already kicked into gear. The holographic display on my desk pulsed to life, projecting my day in seamless order: board meeting at nine, a call with the Tokyo office by noon, and the high-stakes investor pitch for our AI integration at four. Every entry represented years of strategy, sacrifice, and sleepless ambition.

Maxwell Technologies wasn't just my company; it was an empire. I was its architect. Its engine. Its center of gravity.

And yet, in these early moments before the world stirred, I felt the weight of it all settle on my chest. Not metaphorically but physically. A tightness I could never fully exhale. There was no true pause, no off-switch. Innovation didn't sleep, and neither did I.

Friends had long since become acquaintances. My social world was a terrain of polite facades and calculated alliances. Genuine connection? I hadn't felt that in... well, years. Maybe decades.

Power demanded isolation. And I had already accepted that cost.

I turned from the glass and walked to my desk. The smooth marble reflected the shimmer of the city, but my attention locked on the only thing that mattered this morning "the Odyssey Drive"

A custom-fabricated flash drive, sleek and gunmetal gray, etched with a discreet geometric pattern; a security feature known only to my inner circle. Inside it lived the future: proprietary blueprints, core algorithms, and neural mapping for our upcoming AI integration. The investors would see its potential today, and Maxwell Technologies would leap a decade ahead.

I reached for the concealed slot where I always kept it. My fingers met... emptiness.

A small frown creased my brow. Odd. I was methodical to a fault. there were systems in place for everything.

I checked again. Still nothing.

Suppressing the ripple of irritation, I crossed to the valet and pulled out last night's charcoal suit. I patted down each pocket with precision: outer, inner, breast. but there was nothing.

The irritation sharpened. Became concern.

I stepped back, mind flicking through the previous evening like a digital timeline. Dinner with the board. A brief meeting with our lead engineer. Then a late night drive through Ikoyi, trying to clear my head.

And then, that brief moment outside the pharmacy.

there was a jostle. barely a nudge.

I hadn't even looked up. I'd been mid-call with Tokyo, deep in logistics. It hadn't registered.

But now, it did.

The Odyssey Drive.

Cold panic surged through me like an electric pulse.

It wasn't just a flash drive; it was everything. A year of breakthroughs, intellectual property worth billions, not to mention the strategic edge it gave us in a cutthroat market.

In the wrong hands? This wasn't just a leak; it was corporate devastation. The kind of loss you don't recover from.

I felt it then. A cold, tightening knot in my gut.

This wasn't a delay. This wasn't a mistake.

This was a crisis.

And it had already begun.

I pulled out my phone, fingers flying over the screen with practiced urgency. Demola, my head of corporate security, would be awake. He always was. part soldier, part shadow, never off the clock.

The line clicked.

"Demola," I said, my voice level was ice but calm, even as dread coiled in my gut like a live wire. "I need a trace. A flash drive. Custom-designed. Metallic with a geometric etching. Codename: Odyssey Drive."

I let the words hang. He knew the name.

"It's missing."

A pause. No panic. Just professional silence as the weight of what I'd said settled in.

"Understood, Mr. Maxwell. Any idea where or when it went missing?"

"Near the pharmacy on Admiralty Way. Around midnight. There was a brief contact with someone; it was unintentional. A bump. I didn't think much of it then."

"I'll dispatch a team immediately," he said, tone clipped, efficient. "Any guidance on contents for recovery parameters?"

I didn't hesitate. "It contains proprietary IP. Highly sensitive. Core architecture for our upcoming AI integration. If it's compromised, it won't just delay the project; it'll give our competitors a decade's head start. We're talking algorithms, neural mapping, market strategy and everything."

A beat.

"No expense spared," I added, voice dropping. "And Demola; this stays internal. Absolute discretion."

"Understood."

I ended the call and slowly lowered the phone. My eyes drifted back to the skyline, Lagos stretched wide beneath me, unaware that one mistake' one bump on a sidewalk could ripple outwards into chaos.

If that drive was in the wrong hands, we wouldn't just lose our edge. We'd lose the future.

My reputation built on precision, foresight, and an unbroken string of wins is now standing on a knife's edge.

This wasn't a breach.

It was war.

And I had no intention of losing.