Beneath His Wings

Chapter 11

The sound of hammers clashing against steel, cement mixers roaring, and men shouting instructions filled the morning air of Eden’s City. Dust hovered like a light veil, carrying the sharp smell of wet cement and wood polish. Amid the organized chaos stood a massive foundation site that stretched across what used to be a barren plot filled with broken shacks and refuse.

Now, the ground buzzed with life. Tall scaffolds rose like the skeletons of giants, workers balanced bricks on their shoulders, and engineers in helmets barked orders into radios. A large banner fluttered in the breeze:

“OBI GROUP URBAN HOUSING PROJECT – FIVE STOREYS OF OPPORTUNITY.”

Black SUVs rolled to a halt at the edge of the site, their glossy bodies reflecting sunlight. From the first stepped Ethan Obi, his tall frame commanding attention even without words. Dressed in a dark suit that seemed almost out of place in the dust and heat, he carried himself with the air of a man who didn’t need to prove his wealth—it radiated from his posture, his eyes, his silence.

Aiden, his assistant, followed closely behind, adjusting his tablet and brushing dust off his shoes.

“Sir,” Aiden said, leaning slightly closer as they walked through the site, “the foreman has arranged for you to inspect the progress. They’re already two weeks ahead of schedule.”

Ethan’s eyes scanned the building site, cold but calculating. He didn’t smile, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his expression.

“They should be,” Ethan replied, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “I don’t tolerate delays.”

Workers paused briefly to watch the man they knew was financing their livelihoods. Some whispered among themselves.

“That’s him, the young Obi.”

“The son who returned from America.”

“See as him fresh. Na billionaire be that o.”

Ethan ignored the murmurs. His shoes crunched against gravel as he stepped up onto a wooden platform overlooking the site. From there, he could see the entire structure rising: five floors that, soon, would become homes for dozens of families.

Aiden joined him, tapping on his tablet. “We project completion in nine months, sir. The model follows your directive—clean water system, solar backup, fair rent capped at fixed rates. It’s not the usual slumlord housing.”

“Good,” Ethan said simply, his gaze fixed on the busy workers below. “Exploit the poor, and you create instability. Stability makes money. Never forget that, Aiden.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was silence for a while, broken only by the hammering below. Ethan’s jaw tightened, as though he were considering something else entirely. Then he spoke without looking at his assistant.

“About the girl. What did you find?”

Aiden hesitated a second, then quickly scrolled on his tablet. “Her name is Beauty Ola. Twenty-two years old. Dropped out of university in her third year—she was studying programming. Couldn’t continue because her family couldn’t afford the fees. She works in a small restaurant to support her parents and three siblings. Father’s a civil servant, underpaid. Mother used to trade vegetables, but her wares were seized recently by the landlord.”

Ethan’s eyes flickered, but his expression remained unreadable.

“She kneels to greet, no matter who it is,” Aiden continued. “Locals say she’s hardworking, disciplined. No record of questionable behavior. Sir, it seems she’s… unusually resilient for someone in her situation.”

Ethan finally turned to look at Aiden, his dark eyes cool and piercing. “Resilient,” he repeated, as though testing the word. Then he turned back to the site. “That’s rare. In Eden’s City, most would have broken by now.”

Aiden nodded cautiously. “Do you want me to keep monitoring her?”

For a long moment, Ethan said nothing. His hands rested in his pockets, and his gaze swept across the rising building. Then he replied, voice low and firm, “Discreetly. No interference. I don’t want her knowing.”

“Yes, sir.”

The foreman approached just then, helmet in hand, sweat dripping down his face. “Sir Ethan, we are honored by your presence. Would you like to address the workers?”

Ethan’s stare was steady. “They don’t need speeches,” he said coldly. “Pay them on time, give them the tools, and they’ll work. That’s enough.”

The foreman bowed quickly. “Yes, sir!”

As Ethan walked away, Aiden followed, glancing back at the workers. “Sir, your silence is more intimidating than any speech,” he said with a faint smile.

Ethan’s lips curved slightly—just slightly. “Words are cheap, Aiden. Results aren’t.”

---

Later That Evening – The Slum

In a cramped neighborhood not far from the site, word of the project spread like wildfire. Women selling tomatoes whispered to each other, men sitting on wooden stools argued about the rent, and children ran around shouting, “Five floors! New house!”

Inside the Ola family’s compound, Mama Beauty sat on a low stool, peeling onions into a basket. Her face still carried the frustration of the landlord’s insults, but she forced herself to keep working.

Two neighbors leaned against the wall outside, gossiping loudly enough for her to hear.

“They say Obi Group is building houses for us poor people.”

“Five storeys, I heard. With running water!”

“Na lie! Rich people no dey do anything without profit.”

“But they say rent go cheap. Better than landlord wahala.”

Mama Beauty’s knife paused in her hand. She shook her head. “Cheap? Obi Group? You people should not deceive yourselves. These people are not doing charity.”

Her husband, Mr. Ola, walked in just then, dust on his shoes and a tired look on his face from his office job. He heard the last part and sighed.

“Still,” he said, lowering himself onto a stool, “it may be different. This Ethan Obi… I’ve read in the papers. He’s not like the old billionaires. He has new ideas.”

Mama Ola scoffed. “New ideas? The rich will always be rich. You and I will always suffer.”

Just then, Beauty returned from work, her cornrows neat, her figure graceful even in her faded dress. She knelt to greet them both before rising to put down her bag.

“What are you people talking about?” she asked, wiping her forehead.

“The Obi Group building,” her father replied. “They say it will be for people like us.”

Beauty’s eyes widened a little. She had passed the site earlier in the day and noticed the noise of construction, but she hadn’t imagined it was meant for locals. “For us?” she whispered.

Her mother shook her head firmly. “Don’t put your hope there, Beauty. Hope is dangerous for people like us.”

But Beauty’s gaze lingered in the distance, where she imagined the five-storey building rising against the sky. Something about it tugged at her chest, though she couldn’t explain why.

---

Back at the construction site, Ethan’s convoy prepared to leave. He stood one last time at the edge of the site, the evening sun painting his sharp features in gold. His eyes swept over the slum beyond—the chaos, the poverty, the resilience. Somewhere in that sprawl lived Beauty Ola, though he refused to admit the thought weighed on him.

“Let’s go,” he said coldly, stepping into his SUV.

But Aiden, glancing at his employer’s reflection in the glass, couldn’t help but think Ethan’s silence was not emptiness. It was calculation—one that would change Eden’s City forever.