LOST is an original Lapatutu fiction following Henry’s life journey. All characters, locations, and events in this work are fictional; any resemblance to real entities is entirely coincidental. [Click here if you missed Part 6]

The A-Z FM offices were located on Main Street, right in the heart of the nation’s capital inside The Arthur Tower—owned and named after billionaire banker Arthur Biyakamba.

As the newest building on Main Street, it housed some of the most prestigious offices in the country. A towering nine-story building, with the radio station occupying the entire eighth and ninth floors. For a media house, particularly a radio, that kind of footprint was unheard of. At night, the station’s logo at the very top of the building glowed with cutting-edge LED light, visible for miles across the capital. It breathed power, ambition, and unapologetic dominance.

Inside, the atmosphere hummed with a different kind of electricity. The heavy glass doors sealed off the noise of Main Street; stepping inside felt like entering a whole new world. The ground-floor lobby was dominated by large portraits of the nation’s wealthiest figures who held offices in the building—with Edmond Mwibetu’s framed most prominently of all.

To reach the eighth floor, one had to take a glass-walled express elevator that shot upward at exceptional speed. Everything here spoke of executive power. Henry took it all in and felt an unmistakable sensation: he was finally home.

As the lift doors slid open onto the eighth floor, a fresh wave of excellence hit him. A deep blue leather carpet stretched across the entire floor, leading right to a mahogany reception desk. Behind it sat a strikingly beautiful receptionist who held the room’s attention with ease.

On the wall directly behind her hung an even larger framed portrait of Edmond Mwibetu—far more imposing than the one downstairs. On either side of the reception desk, massive Sony flat screens displayed live, high-definition camera feeds of the presenters, DJs and producers hard at work inside the studio booths.

He stepped up to the receptionist, careful not to let his eyes betray the sudden flash of attraction.

“Good morning to you. I am here to see Mr. Edmond Mwibetu.”

“Good morning. What’s your name?” she asked, keeping her face on the laptop in front of her.

“Henry Zamunda. From Imani College.”

Without looking up, she touched her Bluetooth earpiece. “I have Henry Zamunda from Imani College at reception, sir. He says he has an appointment with Ed.”

After a slight pause, she pushed a guest book across the counter. “Sign here.” Then, without looking up, she added, “Use the lift, go to level 9.”

As he stepped out onto the ninth floor, Edmond’s personal secretary was already waiting for him. She escorted him into a plush waiting lounge, offering him coffee and biscuits while he waited. In this lounge area, what truly captivated his attention was the towering floor to ceiling aquarium that had all manner of marine life moving about. He had never seen one of these in real life.

After about an hour, she came back and asked him to follow her. Together, they walked toward the massive doors leading to Edmond’s office. The moment the doors opened, it felt as though he were stepping directly into a dream.

As he walked in, he realized the sheer scale of the room—Edmond’s office consumed the greater part of the entire ninth floor. But nothing illustrated this outrageous space quite like the centerpiece resting in one corner: a real, full-sized 1965 Aston Martin DB5, illuminated by soft spotlighting around it. Henry would later learn that Edmond had spent billions of Shangas to import and mount this car inside his personal office.

“Good afternoon Mr. Edmond Mwibetu,” Henry said, filled with awe at standing before a man he truly considered great.

“Call me Edmond. And have a seat,” Edmond said, his voice carrying the weight of a young man standing before his ultimate idol.

Henry sat in the deep leather chair, pulling a notebook and pen from his bag, ready to capture whatever instruction came next.

“Do you know about the Nobel Prize?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Call me Edmond,” he interrupted gently.

“Yes, Edmond,” Henry corrected himself. “They’re given to outstanding people all over the world.”

“Do you know who founded them?”

“No Si—sorry. No, Edmond,” Henry stammered slightly.

Edmond got up from behind his desk and walked toward the car display.

“The man who founded those awards was called Alfred Nobel. He was also the inventor of dynamite, responsible for killing thousands of people. But with all the money he had made, he decided to create a legacy for himself that wasn’t death, but the celebration of life. Today, when you remember him, all you think of is the Nobel Prize,” Edmond said slowly, his eyes looking right into Henry’s eyes.

It was the first time Henry had heard this story, and he was awestruck.

“I researched you,” Edmond continued. “Your background. You don’t come from much. But I am going to pay you very well. And like with Alfred Nobel, with money, you can make your own legacy, the way you want it. My only condition is this, use that charm of yours to bring me clients!” he concluded, his voice suddenly sharp, a clear mandate.

This was the most inspiring speech Henry had ever heard. There was someone who actually knew that money could make people love you! He felt an even deeper, almost spiritual, admiration for Edmond.

“You start today. You will have a company car and a starting salary of 100,000 Shanga (about USD 5,000). Bring in advertisers. The bigger the accounts you land, the sooner we renegotiate that salary. End of training,” Edmond said, extending his hand.

Like a soldier commanded to battle, Henry rose swiftly to take the offered hand. With that kind of money, bargaining never even crossed his mind—it was far more than any relative he knew earned. As for the car, he would be only the second person in his lineage to drive one. Right there in his heart, he resolved to do whatever it took to make his master happy. How dare he not?

From that moment on, Henry threw himself into the work. He was the first in the office and the last to leave, studying client lists, learning who controlled advertising budgets across the city, and mastering the A-Z sales pitch.

In his first month, he on boarded two major advertisers: a prominent national soda company and, remarkably, his own university, Imani College. In the case of his former university, his sales pitch had been particularly audacious. He promised the Vice Chancellor of Imani College that A-Z FM was not only willing but eager to offer internship placements for their enrolled students, framing the advertising deal as a necessary bridge for this invaluable partnership. This, of course, was not true; it was a total fabrication, another strategic lie to close the deal.

With his first salary, Henry wasted no time. He immediately secured a modern apartment in a sleek high-rise building overlooking the capital’s skyline and furnished it with modern furniture. Among his first prized personal acquisitions were several pairs of fine leather shoes and tailored suits.

The company car was already allocated to him, but policy was strict: he could only take possession once he obtained his driver’s license. He had immediately enrolled in a driving school, paying for the premium package that promised accelerated learning to ensure he would be behind the wheel of his symbol of success in the shortest possible time.

Month after month, he expanded his client list, landing accounts that used to feel impossible. The most unusual—and highest-paying—was a mega-church advertising an upcoming youth crusade. To close the deal, Henry feigned being a devoted believer, attending three full services to convince the church leadership of A-Z FM’s reach among the youth. During this time, he became fluent in Christianese—learning to speak like a Christian strictly on the surface—and made visible donations on several occasions. It worked.

Edmond watched his progress closely, sending short, calculated emails to keep his protégé hungry: “I know you can bring in more.” Words like that acted as fuel, driving Henry to work twice as hard.

Nine months down the line, a call from home broke through the rhythm of Henry’s meticulously crafted world. It was his sister, reaching out to invite him to her upcoming wedding. He was genuinely happy to hear from her, yet the sound of her voice carried an uncomfortable weight.

He had stayed away from home ever since that fateful Easter holiday during his university days. He hadn’t returned, nor had he sent a single coin back to his parents. The sting of their past rejection still burned. When he had previously tried to share his earnings from his university hustle of selling knockoff merchandise, they had met his “generosity” with deep suspicion, questioning how he could possibly have such money. Their doubt and immediate rejection had deeply angered him, hardening his resolve to cut them off entirely.

But now, backed by an executive title, a company car, and ‘clean’ money, he no longer had to stay away. This was his chance to return not as a suspect, but as a conqueror.

He agreed to be there.

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© An original Lapatutu Story.

Next week, Henry goes back to Miraje for his sister’s wedding, carrying legitimate symbols of wealth. But his family knows the boy behind the suits all too well, and there is bound to be some friction. See you next Wednesday!