The Heir that Bends Wills

I learned very early in life that money decides how loud your voice can be. If you are poor, people speak over you. If you are rich, people listen even when you whisper. Right now, I was standing in the middle of the lecture hall, holding my phone in my sweaty palm, while over two hundred students stared at me like I was something they had stepped on by mistake. “Olamide Badmus,” the bursar called out again, her voice sharp and impatient. “Your school fees are overdue. This is the third notice.” A low murmur spread through the hall. I could hear laughter. And of course their tone of mockery and jest but I kept my head down. “I said I will pay,” I replied quietly. Someone laughed loudly. “Pay with what? His good looks?” another voice said. Another round of laughter followed. I clenched my jaw but said nothing. I had learned that silence was safer. Fighting back only gave them more reason to humiliate you. The bursar adjusted her glasses and looked at me like I was wasting her breathe. “You have one week,” she said. “If the balance is not cleared, you will be withdrawn from the university.” Withdrawn. That single word hit harder than any slap. This school was not just a school. It was Elite Crest University—a place built for children of politicians, billionaires, and powerful families. I only got in because of my grades and a partial scholarship. And that scholarship? It barely covered anything. “Do you understand?” she asked. “Yes, ma’am,” I said adjusting my glasses. “Good. You may sit.” I turned to walk back to my seat, but that was when she added— “And next time, don’t embarrass yourself by standing here if you don’t have money.” The hall erupted with laughter. I felt my ears burn. As I sat down, my best friend Noah leaned closer to me. “Ignore them,” he whispered. “They’re idiots.” I forced a smile. “I’m used to it.” But I wasn’t. No one ever truly gets used to being reminded that they are poor. Across the hall, I saw Vanessa Blake watching me. My girlfriend. I remembered her dating me because my look had decieved her when I first got into the university. When she finds out that I was not rich she couldn't let go. I was already her slave. Doing half of her assignment and class work. Or rather… my soon-to-be ex, though I didn’t know it yet. She didn’t look worried. She didn’t look sympathetic. She looked embarrassed. Embarrassed of me. After the lecture, she walked up to me, her heels clicking loudly against the tiled floor. “Olamide,” she said, crossing her arms. “That was unnecessary.” I frowned. “What was?” “Standing there like that. You made people stare.” I stared at her. “I didn’t choose it.” She sighed as if I was the problem. “Look, my parents are coming to town this weekend,” she continued. “They’re… important people. I don’t want them thinking I’m dating someone who can’t even pay his fees.” There it was. The words I had been avoiding. “You’re breaking up with me,” I said slowly. She didn’t deny it. “I think we should take a break,” she said. “Until you… figure your life out.” I nodded once. I knew begging was only going to make things worse. Not with all this people staring. If there was one thing poverty taught me, it was pride. “Okay,” I said. She looked surprised. “That’s it?” “What else do you want me to say?” She scoffed. “Whatever. I hope things work out for you.” She walked away without looking back. I watched her leave, my chest tight, my hands shaking. That was the moment I realized I was completely alone. That evening, I went home to our small apartment. The paint was peeling. The place smelled like old books and instant noodles. My mother was sitting at the dining table, sorting bills. She smiled when she saw me. “You’re home early.” I dropped my bag and sat across from her. “Mom,” I said quietly. “If… if I get withdrawn from school, will you be disappointed?” Her smile faded. She reached for my hand immediately. “Never. Do you hear me? Never.” “But—” “I raised you alone,” she said softly. “I watched you struggle. I watched you work hard. No paper can define your worth.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ll fix it,” I said. “I promise.” She nodded, but I could see the worry in her eyes. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the fan. My phone buzzed. An unknown number flickered across the screen. I frowned and answered. “Hello?” A calm, deep voice came through the line. “Is this Olamide Badmus?" “Yes,” I replied cautiously. “Who is this?” There was a pause at the end of the call. Then— “You don’t know me,” the man said. “But I have been watching you for a very long time.” My heart skipped. “That’s not funny,” I said. “If this is a prank—” “It’s not,” he interrupted. “I know your school fees are overdue. I know you were humiliated today. I know your girlfriend left you.” I sat up straight. “How do you know all that?” Another pause. Then he said something that made my blood run cold. “Because you are my son.” The world seemed to tilt. My breathe was caught in my throat. “What?” I whispered. “I didn’t abandon you,” the man continued. “I stayed away to protect you. But things are changing now.” My fingers tightened around the phone. “My mother said my father was dead,” I said. “She lied,” he replied calmly. “Because if the wrong people knew about you, you would have been used against me.” I laughed bitterly. “You expect me to believe this?” “I don't actually but time will tell." There was silence for a bit. My heart pounded loudly in my ears. “Check your school account tomorrow,” he replied. “Your fees will be cleared. Not as charity. As responsibility.” My mouth went dry. “Who… who are you?” I asked. There was a smile in his voice when he answered. “My name doesn’t matter yet,” he said. “What matters is this—” “You were never poor, Olamide.” The call ended. I stared at my phone for a long time. I was not sure if this was a prank or if I was indeed richer than I had thought.