Billionaire's Bastard Son

In Victoria West, South Africa. In a small zinc roof house. The wind touched the zinc roof first. Then the rain followed. Light at the beginning. Soft. Almost careful. Inside the small room, Helen Okafor was already struggling to breathe. Her fingers pressed weakly against the thin mattress placed directly on the floor beneath her. Her chest rose once. Stopped. Rose again. Slower this time. Her eyes moved toward the door. Waiting. Footsteps approached outside. Fast. Then closer. Then stopped. Johnson Hale's shadow crossed the doorway before he appeared inside it. “Mama?” No answer. He stepped in quickly. His body soaked with water. From the rain. “Mama?” He saw her. And dropped his school almost soaked bag on the table immediately. A wooden broken table with one side leaning against the wall. He had covered the bag with nylon bag. Preventing it from rain. “Mama!” He rushed forward. Quickly removing his wet clothes. Putting on dry once. He hurried and knelt beside her mattress. Her breathing sounded wrong. Too shallow. Too fast. Too weak. His hands touched her shoulders. “Mama what is it? What happened?” She tried to speak. No words came out yet. Only air. He looked around quickly. “No… no… wait. I’m here now. I’m here. We are going to the hospital.” He began trying to run out. “I’ll call Mama Grace. I’ll call Mr. Botha. We’ll get a taxi—” Her fingers suddenly tightened around his wrist. Weak. But firm enough to stop him. “No.” Her voice barely came out. “No hospital.” Johnson shook his head immediately. “No. No. Don’t say that. I told you yesterday we are going today. I have money now. Mama we are going.” She pulled his wrist closer. Her fingers trembling. “Johnson… listen to me.” Rain grew louder on the zinc roof. He leaned closer. “I’m listening. But we are still going. Just hold on.” Her breathing slowed again. “Listen… first.” Something in her voice made him stop moving. Not weakness. Urgency. He swallowed. “Yes.” Her fingers tightened slightly around his wrist again. “There is something… I should have told you long ago.” Johnson’s chest tightened immediately. “What is it?” She struggled to breathe again before continuing. “The company… that bus you repaired…” Johnson frowned slightly. “Hale Trans-Global?” She nodded slowly. “Yes.” He waited. Not understanding yet. “The owner of that company…” Her fingers trembled again. “…is your father.” Johnson Froze. Meanwhile, Few months earlier, The afternoon sun leaned hard against the corrugated zinc roof of Mr. Botha’s garage. In Victoria West. Inside, the smell of engine oil and hot metal filled the air. A large transport bus stood halfway across the inspection pit. Its engine cover was open. Tools were scattered everywhere. Mr. Botha wiped sweat from his forehead. Joseph stood beside the engine, holding a wrench he clearly didn’t trust himself with. “This thing should have started already,” Joseph muttered. Mr. Botha shook his head. “It should have left two hours ago.” Joseph stepped back again as the driver tried the ignition. The engine coughed once. Then died again. The driver climbed down from the seat, frustrated. “I told dispatch I would reach Beaufort West before evening.” Mr. Botha sighed. “You’ll reach there tomorrow at this rate.” Joseph leaned closer into the engine compartment again. “I think it’s the fuel line.” “No,” Mr. Botha said immediately. “Not the fuel line.” “Then what?” Mr. Botha didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t sure. The driver checked his watch again. “This vehicle belongs to headquarters movement schedule.” Mr. Botha raised his head slightly. “Headquarters?” “Yes.” Joseph stepped around the front of the vehicle. That was when he noticed the company name clearly across the body of the bus. Large blue lettering. Clean. Professional. Unmistakable. HALE TRANS-GLOBAL LOGISTICS Joseph whistled quietly. “This one is not small company vehicle.” Mr. Botha nodded slowly. “I can see that.” Footsteps approached from outside the garage entrance. School shoes. Slow. Tired. Then— Johnson appeared at the doorway. School bag over his shoulder. Dust on his trousers. Exercise book still in his hand. He stopped when he saw the vehicle. Mr. Botha turned. And immediately exhaled. “Ah.” Relief. Real relief. “Johnson.” Joseph stepped aside instantly. “Come and see this thing.” Johnson walked closer. Quietly. Studied the engine. Did not speak yet. Driver watched him carefully. “How old are you?” Johnson ignored the question. Instead he asked: “When did it stop?” “On the road outside town.” “Before or after refueling?” “Before.” Johnson nodded once. Then placed his school bag on the floor. Rolled up his sleeves. Reached into the engine housing. Joseph stepped closer. “What do you see?” Johnson pointed. “Loose pressure return.” Mr. Botha leaned in. “You’re sure?” Johnson tightened the line carefully. Checked the connector again. Then stepped back. “Try now.” Driver climbed back into the seat. Turned the ignition. The engine shook once— then started properly. Deep. Strong. Alive. Joseph laughed immediately. Mr. Botha shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe this boy.” The driver jumped down again. Walked straight toward Johnson. Extended his hand. “Thank you.” Johnson shook it. The driver looked genuinely impressed. “At your age?” Johnson shrugged slightly. “It was small work.” Driver smiled. “No.” He pointed toward the bus. “This vehicle belongs to Mr. Hale himself.” Johnson didn’t react immediately. The name meant nothing yet. The driver climbed back inside the bus. Closed the door. Engine roared stronger. Moments later— the vehicle rolled out of the garage yard. Dust followed behind it. Silence returned slowly. Joseph picked up a wrench from the ground again— then noticed something near Johnson’s foot. “A paper fell.” Johnson bent down. Picked it up. It was a dispatch receipt. Stamped. Official. Company header printed clearly across the top: HALE TRANS-GLOBAL LOGISTICS Johnson looked at the name again. This time— longer. More carefully. Something about it stayed in his mind. He folded the paper once. Then slipped it quietly inside his school notebook. And said nothing.