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 9]

Without a second thought, as he left work that evening, he went to the Authorized Rolex dealership and used his ‘appreciation’ money to pick up the upgrade he had been yearning to make for months. He chose the gold Rolex Day-Date. And indeed, it was a technical wonder, just as had been advertised.

This was a massive upgrade from his Oyster Perpetual. As the cool metal settled against his skin, it felt as though he had never truly lived—as if his life was only just starting in that very instant.

“You’re the youngest person to buy this piece from us,” the sales lady said, smiling.

Whether she was telling the truth or simply using sales charm to stroke his ego wasn’t clear, but the compliment landed perfectly.

Henry gave her a nod of supreme confidence, as if to say, I know.

For the next few days, he worked on the Apex Premium execution plan, going far beyond what was required of him to ensure it was his best work yet. During those days, he found himself checking the time much more often. Every time his eyes landed on that beauty of a watch, a shiver ran down his spine.

On Monday morning, at exactly 8:30 AM, he emailed the execution plan to the Apex MD. Within fourteen minutes, a reply landed in his inbox.

‘Henry, this is brilliant work. It’s clear why Edmond trusted you with this account. I agree with every single point in your execution plan. In fact, I want you to be the face of this entire campaign.As a young professional, your image will bring immense credibility to what we are building here. I will personally ensure you are paid well for this extra work. Let me know your thoughts.’

Even before hitting send, Henry knew he had produced an exceptional proposal, so a positive response was guaranteed. But this went far beyond what he had anticipated. Looking at the recipients, he noticed that Edmond had been copied on the email. The MD hadn’t made this offer in secret; Edmond had seen every word.

Nonetheless, careful not to bypass his boss or make assumptions, Henry immediately sent Edmond a private message asking how to proceed.

‘I don’t micromanage people I pay to perform. You run the Apex account—make the call and make us look good.’

Reading Edmond’s reply, Henry cleared his schedule for the rest of the morning. He immediately arranged a face-to-face meeting with the Apex MD to discuss the offer. By 12:00 PM, he was stepping into the executive office.

“I love a man who moves fast,” the MD said as Henry walked in. “Now I see why Edmond hired you.”

“Thank you, Sir. Good afternoon,” Henry replied, extending a firm hand.

“Good afternoon.” The MD paused, his eyes dropping to Henry’s left wrist. “Is that a Day-Date?”

It was the exact question Henry had been dying to hear since the moment he left the Rolex showroom.

“Yes, Sir. It is.”

“Good taste,” the MD gave a slight, knowing nod. “Keep grinding. Maybe one day you’ll be wearing the Cosmograph Daytona like this one.”

Looking down at the heavy 18K yellow gold Cosmograph Daytona resting on the MD’s wrist, Henry felt the pride in his new Day-Date vanish. After only a few days of wearing it, he was suddenly hungry for better. Obsession quickly suffocates contentment.

“So, I want you to be the face of this project,” the MD said, leaning back. “Basically, I want you to win over the youth and show them that we are the good guys. That’s really it.”

“Yes, Sir… what exactly would my responsibilities be?” Henry asked, notebook open, pen ready.

“Well, you’re young, and your brilliance is already clear from your execution plan. You come up with the campaign ideas, and we’ll provide all the funding you need. Money isn’t a problem.”

Before he could formulate his response, the MD cut in again.

“And I will be paying you separately for fronting the campaign.”

Henry braced himself to negotiate a fee, but before he could speak, the MD casually threw out a figure.

“Two million Shanga. I’ll give you one million upfront—it’s actually waiting at reception for you right now. The balance comes upon completion of the project.”

In his entire life, he had never handled this kind of money at once. His mind couldn’t process an objection. It didn’t even question why the payout was coming in raw cash rather than a bank transfer, or why he was signing an official disbursement form with the amount left completely blank. The excitement of money has that kind of blinding effect.

Henry didn’t wait. With his one million deposit, he went straight to a top end suit designer and ordered four custom-cut suits. They were crafted from heavy Italian wool and fitted precisely to accentuate his frame. Every stitch was designed to make him look like the powerful figure he was aspiring to be.

Over the eight months that followed, Henry transformed from a background strategist into the public champion of the Apex Premium Project. His week became full of primetime television interviews and syndicated radio talk shows. The shift was subtle at first, replacing uncomfortable facts with smooth corporate optimism. But as the campaign gathered momentum, the line between PR and outright deception dissolved completely.

Truth became secondary.

“As Apex Life, we have invested over one hundred million Shanga in a reforestation project in the northern part of the country. This should show everyone that our commitment to the environment remains absolute,” he repeated at every studio stop.

In reality, the project consisted entirely of eucalyptus trees planted directly along a riverbed. They weren’t planted to restore the ecosystem, but to yield fast-growing timber for Apex to harvest in about ten years. Henry knew the truth, but he brushed it aside. To him, planting trees was planting trees.

With his rising profile, Henry became the go-to speaker for university career fairs across the country. Over his eight months as the face of Apex Premium, he received at least eighty-four invitations to speak to students—a key demographic for his assignment. They were an easy crowd to enchant. Everywhere he went, he delivered virtually the exact same script.

“Not so long ago, I sat in these exact seats, just as hungry and ambitious as any of you. Through my work at A-Z FM, I became the face of Apex Premium. Today, I earn in the millions because we refused to compromise on progress. Civilization doesn’t advance by standing still—it moves when we drive development aggressively. That is the core of Apex Life: taking charge of our environment, building real wealth, and reclaiming our position as leaders of tomorrow…”

At this point, there were almost always cheers. To the university students, Henry’s life looked like the absolute definition of early success, and they drank in every word he said. Without even trying to be one in the traditional sense, he had become the ultimate corporate influencer.

He managed all of this while successfully juggling his regular job at A-Z FM. Sleep was the primary sacrifice, but he drew comfort from a line he had picked up in a self-help book years ago: any man sleeping more than four hours a night is on the path to poverty. It was an absurd, dangerous lesson.

But money has a way of inventing expensive fixes for problems nature solves for free. He fueled his days with high-dose brain supplements and energy boosters, forcing his mind to function despite the exhaustion. Sleep was free, but sleep took time. And who had time for rest when there was money to be made?

One Thursday evening, he got a call from an unknown number. This had become routine with all the speaking engagements piling up.

“Henry here. How can I help you?”

“Hello Henry,” a voice said, sounding like an older man. “You don’t know me, but I have been following your work with Apex Premium.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, falling back on his usual script. “Are you calling from a media outlet or a university?”

“None of those. I am a Bishop from the church in Kifaru, near the Kifaru Canopy where your project is based.”

A Bishop was a new addition to his call list. But Henry knew how to work an audience.

“Praise God, Bishop. How can I serve you? I already feel like you are a man deserving of a support pledge for your ministry! We can easily arrange a—”

“Young man, I don’t want your money,” the voice cut in. “Listen to me carefully. Those are not good people you are working for. That is all I called to say.”

“Bishop, as I’ve said across the country, development benefits all of us. We are planting trees in—”

The Bishop hung up.

Henry stared at the quiet phone, momentarily thrown by the dead tone. In eight months of slick negotiations, he had never met a man who didn’t want a cut of Apex’s money. Everyone had a price—a corporate sponsorship, a campus budget, a church donation. A clergyman actively turning down cash was an anomaly he had no script for.

The shock lasted ten seconds.

Three weeks stood between him and his final one million Shanga payout, and he had no time for religious guilt. The Bishop’s warning faded, replaced by a single, sharp obsession: securing the gold Rolex Cosmograph Daytona.

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© An original Lapatutu Story.

Henry is the man of the hour—the face of the campaign and the corporate golden boy. But a dinner at Edmond’s estate is about to pull back the curtain on a side of real wealth he wasn’t prepared for. Henry is about to learn what he really is in his mentor’s eyes. See you next Wednesday.