A Different Man

NARRATED BY NICOLAS....

Walking into my company for the first time was exactly how I'd imagined it. Stares that didn't look away, footsteps that quickened, silences that carried weight.

Sometimes I wondered whether what intimidated them was my power —

or how I got here.

Maybe both.

The lobby doors opened and the atmosphere shifted instantly. No one needed to announce my arrival. They felt it.

I moved through hallway after hallway, elevator after elevator. Every corner of this skyscraper existed because I built it on the ruins of what had once been the Duval company.

I bought it.

Had it demolished.

I had to acquire additional lots — this building wasn't small. It was a monument.

I walked toward the elevators without stopping. The guards fell into formation. The receptionists stood. A few executives tried to greet me, but I barely offered a nod.

I wasn't here to socialize.

I was here to command.

The elevator went straight to the top floor.

My floor.

The doors opened and my assistant was already waiting, walking alongside me with a folder in his hand, practically jogging to keep up.

"Mr. Falcon, the investment committee is waiting. The extraction reports are ready."

I nodded without looking at him. By now I could tell what was urgent from what was filler — and when they thought they could impress me.

I entered the boardroom.

Twelve people rose to their feet at once — nine men and three women. Most of them were older than me, with decades of breathing oil, numbers, and international politics. Still, not one of them could hold my gaze for more than two seconds.

"Sit down," I ordered, placing my phone on the table.

I didn't need to raise my voice. My name did the work for me.

The screens came to life.

They talked about millions, barrels, contracts, countries.

While they presented, I watched the city through the window.

From up here, everything looked different. Smaller. More manageable.

I always remembered the same thing: when I had nothing, I promised myself that one day I'd have everything.

"That's useless," I interrupted one of the directors. "Redo the report. I want real numbers, not cooked figures."

The man swallowed hard and nodded.

"One more thing," I added, leaning forward with both hands on the table. "Have my jet ready. I'm flying to the Middle East today. I want to see the new field myself."

The room went quiet.

No one contradicted me.

No one questioned me.

No one could.

I built this company with my own hands.

And I still had a long way left to conquer.

My private jet landed in the desert just before dawn.

From the air, the lights of the oil platforms looked like constellations pinned into the sand. The heat was already there before the sun appeared, as if the entire territory had been waiting for me.

I adjusted my glasses and descended the stairs.

My team followed behind: analysts, lawyers, translators. No one spoke. Everyone knew there was no room for error today.

The convoy of black armored SUVs was waiting — silent and dark. The head of security inclined his head.

"Welcome to Al-Amarah, Mr. Falcon. The sheikhs are expecting you."

I nodded and climbed in.

The drive was long, surrounded by endless sand. In the distance rose a modern palace — marble columns and gold detailing. Here, luxury wasn't displayed. It was imposed.

Inside, two sheikhs stood to receive me. Impeccable white robes, calculating eyes. In this place, nobody smiled without a reason.

"Falcon," the elder said, shaking my hand. "We've heard a great deal about you."

"And I about you," I replied. "That's why I'm here."

We sat in a vast room where the air smelled of power.

On the table were maps of the new deep-water field. Ten trillion dollars in reserves. A deal capable of shifting the global energy balance.

They spoke first.

They laid out terms, conditions, limits.

They thought they were running this.

They weren't.

"I didn't come here for a half-deal," I cut in, my voice level. "If I work with you, it'll be with sixty percent control of the project. Without that, there's no negotiation."

They exchanged glances. Surprised.

Few people spoke to them that way.

Fewer still without blinking.

"Sixty percent is too much," the younger one said. "No foreign company has ever demanded that."

"That's why I get it," I replied. "And the rest of them don't."

The silence thickened.

Dangerous.

They expected me to back down.

I wouldn't.

In this world, whoever yields, loses.

The elder sheikh took a deep breath.

"You're asking for an empire, Falcon."

"No," I corrected him. "I'm offering one."

I projected my numbers on the screen: extraction capacity, investment structure, proprietary technology, drilling capability they didn't possess.

As I spoke, I watched their expressions shift. From pride to assessment. From assessment to acceptance.

Exactly what I expected.

Finally, the elder gave a thin smile.

"Very well. You'll have your sixty percent. But we demand your presence at the inauguration of the first well."

"You'll have it," I said.

We sealed the deal.

The impact would be global.

Today I'd secured an energy position that placed me above the summit.

When I walked out, the sun was already high. The sand shone like molten gold.

I climbed into the SUV and checked my phone.

A new message from my assistant:

"Capri matter resolved. Awaiting instructions."

Perfect.

I closed my eyes for a second as the convoy advanced through the dunes.

First, I'd conquer the world's oil.

Then — the people who forced me to come back.

And I hadn't even started.

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