Chapter fifteen: A
Steven sat quietly on board Flight 522A, a British Airways flight bound for Abuja, Nigeria. His seat number—78B, tucked in economy class—was hardly befitting a man of his stature. Who would believe that the man reclining in a standard seat, modestly dressed and avoiding all attention, had the financial muscle to buy the entire airline if he so wished? Yet, this was precisely how Steven wanted it.
This journey was not business. It was not diplomacy. It was personal.
He had insisted on flying economy for the same reason he had refused a private jet or first-class ticket—he wanted to arrive in Africa not as Steven Kock, billionaire CEO of the Kock Organization, but as a man seeking answers. As a man confronting fate.
Leaning back in his seat, Steven allowed his mind to drift into the silence of the cabin. The soft hum of the engines and the murmurs of nearby passengers created a dull background rhythm, just enough to pull his thoughts inward. He began reviewing the hours before his departure from New York.
He remembered the tight-lipped smiles of the board members as he introduced Mr. Arwood, the man he had called out of retirement to act on his behalf during his absence. The announcement had caught them all off guard. Some had been preparing aggressively, lobbying for weeks to be chosen as interim head of the organization. But Steven knew better—this was not a time for corporate ambition. It was a time for trust, for loyalty.
"If the gods of Africa will allow me to return," he had added, half in jest, though the weight of his words echoed in the silent boardroom.
But the moment that clung to his memory was that of his secretary.
The woman—blonde, poised, and disarmingly kind—had knocked softly on his office door, closing it behind her with a grace that suggested purpose rather than hesitation.
"Sir," she had said gently, "do you have someone to care for you in Germany? Because… I'm willing to extend my services. To Germany, or even Africa, if I'm allowed."
Steven had paused, caught off guard. He smiled. "That is very kind of you," he said warmly, though a practiced mask covered his inner thoughts. "The hospital in Germany has made all necessary arrangements. And Africa… well, that's a private visit. But you impress me with your kind heart."
In truth, his heart held other suspicions. Ever since taking over the organization, something about her sudden placement as his personal secretary had felt too convenient. Too orchestrated. But the time to investigate her would come—after Africa. For now, he needed clarity. Solitude. And the truth.
He was so lost in reflection that he didn't notice the flight attendant standing beside him until she gently tapped his arm.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, startled. "I didn't know you needed my attention."
She smiled—the kind of trained yet warm smile flight attendants master over years of practice. But there was something uniquely genuine in hers. Her white teeth flashed like a quick beam of sunlight breaking through soft clouds.
"That's okay, sir. I haven't really been waiting long," she said, her voice lilting like a well-tuned string instrument.
"Forgive my intrusion," she continued. "I just… I couldn't help but wonder—are you the same Steven Kock who used to fly with us on the European routes? First class, a few times?"
Steven gave her a knowing smile. "Well, I must respect your hippocampus. Yes—I'm Steven. And on this journey, I decided to see just how comfortable your service is in economy. Who knows," he chuckled, "I might end up owning an airline someday."
She laughed with him, her smile blooming into something more vivid. "If that's true, I wouldn't mind working for you, sir. I love new challenges."
"I'll remember that," Steven replied, genuinely amused. "What's your name, if you don't mind?"
"Cynthia, sir," she responded quickly, her voice steady.
"Cynthia," he repeated. "I'll remember that."
She excused herself, joy lighting her face. Steven leaned back again, smiling softly.
Then, instinctively, he turned toward the aircraft window and drew open the shade.
What met his eyes was more than clouds—it was poetry in motion.
The aircraft soared above an endless stretch of land and sky, continents drifting beneath him like ancient scrolls. Wisps of clouds moved like dancers across a painted canvas. The sky glowed in shades of rose gold and lavender, the sun casting reflections off river bends that shimmered like veins of liquid silver. Small mountain ranges looked like folded fabric, while endless grasslands unfurled beneath like a sleeping sea of green and gold.
He felt the immensity of the world in that moment—and his own smallness. Somewhere below, millions of lives ticked forward, unaware of the man above who carried in his heart a storm of questions.
But then his heart thudded differently. Africa.
He was headed there.
To the land of thunderous drums and ancient whispers. To a continent rich in spirits, stories, and secrets. A place both mystifying and magnetic—where roots ran deep, and the land remembered everything.
A place where Rebecca had disappeared into.
He remembered her words as clearly as if she'd just whispered them again in his ear: "You still have to find me."
That wasn't a dare. It was a call.
Steven's jaw tightened slightly. This wasn't a corporate negotiation or a political mission. This was deeper, messier—human.
Could he survive this journey? Could he survive the truth?
As the aircraft sliced through the quiet skies, his mind drifted once again. This time, to Rebecca. Her voice. Her silence. The child who might truly be his. The regrets he couldn't undo. And the possibility of redemption he might still earn.
Africa wasn't just a place. It was a reckoning.
And in a few short hours, he would step onto its soil not as a CEO, but as a man seeking to reclaim pieces of his soul.
He adjusted his seat and pulled the small pillow behind his head, letting his eyes rest once more on the sky. Outside, the horizon was turning a deeper amber, the sun beginning its slow descent. Somewhere beyond that, waiting in the folds of the unknown, was a grandmother who spoke in riddles and rituals, a woman who said the gods were angry. And a gatekeeper named Stanley Orji, who could see both the modern world and the ancient one clearly.
Steven breathed in deeply. The cabin lights dimmed. Passengers around him began to nap or flip through magazines.
But in Steven's mind, the real journey had just begun.
And soon, the land of drums and secrets would receive him—whether to break him or bless him, only the gods could say.