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 10]

At the end of every year, Edmond held a lavish dinner party at his residence—an exclusive gathering for his closest family and most trusted friends. For his first two years at A-Z FM, despite his exceptional performance, Henry had never received an invitation to this coveted event.

But in his third year, the moment finally arrived: Naila, Edmond’s private secretary, personally handed him the prestigious invitation. The invitation itself was a testament to the opulence of the dinner party. It was crafted from a thin, polished piece of mahogany wood, its surface gleaming with a high-gloss finish. Henry’s name was inscribed directly into the wood, a tangible symbol of his inclusion in Edmond’s elite inner circle.

For this pivotal event, Henry spared no expense. He immediately went out and bought the most expensive suit he could afford—a grey Canali—and a new pair of shoes. He now had credit cards, so credit was always available for such purchases. For the watch, he now wore the gold Rolex Cosmograph Daytona. As he looked at himself in the mirror before leaving the house, he felt he was finally part of the rich. He looked rich. And now, he had been invited to a party of the rich.

He hadn’t been able to fully sleep the night before; the excitement was simply too much. But by now, sleeplessness was a common occurrence for him. He’d once read somewhere that sleeping a full eight hours was a habit of the poor, while the rich were up, tirelessly getting richer—a notion he clung to, validating his own relentless pursuit.

He got into his car and drove over to the Mwibetu Residence, as it was simply known. It stood atop a secluded hill in one of the posh suburbs and the entire home stood on three acres of land.

As he got to the entrance, he showed his invitation card to the security guard, and the large gate was opened. He drove through a long driveway that led to another gate; it was here that signs of a party started to show as he could hear the sound of music. He was shown to where the parking was.

At this point, Henry was still driving the company car, a blue Ford Mustang. Edmond never believed in “meaningless branding,” as he called it, so these cars never had any A-Z FM branding. In a way, this made it feel like his own car after a while. Whenever he was complimented on it, he never offered any clarification—and he had received quite a number of compliments.

But as he got to the parking, that was when he realized how small and insignificant his Mustang was. The cars parked there were a dizzying display of automotive artistry. The machine that truly seized his attention was the white Bentley Turbo R–the only one of its kind in the entire country, famously owned by the Apex Life MD. Here again, Henry felt small. The size of his car and the mere fact that it was a company car made him forget the Canali suit and the Rolex Cosmograph Daytona.

He tried to console himself, but the more cars he saw, the more he realized his Mustang was the joke of the parking lot. He was relieved that the parking area was set far from the guests—at least no one had to watch him step out of this small car. Right there, a new desire came to him. He needed a car of his own, whatever it took, and it had to be a big car.

There is a specific kind of desire that can never be satisfied—a bitter, restless kind that awakens the moment you see someone with something better than yours. It is the most dangerous kind of desire, because it ensures you are never truly full.

As he walked towards the perfectly manicured gardens, a striking, life-sized iron statue of Edmond caught his eye: a depiction of the man himself, powerful and commanding, holding up a sword, with  a display of cascading water around its base. Henry stood here for a while, just admiring the wealth on show.

From where he stood, the glow of string lights and the scatter of cocktail tables came into view. He took a breath and forced his charisma into place. He reminded himself that he hadn’t snuck in; he was invited. He had earned his way into this circle and moved gracefully to the party venue.

But the moment he stepped into the crowd, the second shock hit. He looked around and saw that almost everyone was dressed casually. People wore sandals and stylish hats, and hardly a single man had his shirt tucked in.

He was shocked to the core. He had chosen an expensive Canali suit specifically to show muscle, to project an image of wealth and status. But here were the richest people in the land, effortlessly exuding their affluence without struggling to display it.

An internal anger stirred within him. Nonetheless, he brushed it off and reminded himself that he had been personally invited.

He quickly navigated to a cocktail table, got a drink, and immediately set about his familiar task of networking with the rich. One thing was for sure: he had no trouble using his words to win people over. On the spot, he crafted a cover story for his suit: a last-minute meeting with an executive had forced him to dress this way.

Away from the general parking where the guests had parked, there was a private parking section, closer to the main house, reserved exclusively for family. Almost an hour into the event, two sleek cars glided into this privileged space, arriving almost simultaneously.

One was a Range Rover Vogue with the number plate MWIBETU I, and the other, a powerful BMW X6 bearing MWIBETU II. From the quiet murmurs around the garden, Henry gathered that Edmond’s two sons had just landed from Spain that afternoon.

On hearing this, a deep, bitter jealousy filled Henry.

It was such a confusing emotion for him, bringing with it a slight dizziness. Over the years, he had obviously learned about Edmond’s two sons, Julius and Augustus Mwibetu. But there was something about seeing them physically, about witnessing their effortless entitlement that stirred a profound jealousy within him. He desperately wished that he was in their place, a true son to this powerful man.

The event soon began. There was no MC; it was Edmond himself who spoke, though not extensively. After welcoming everyone, he turned to acknowledge his sons, his voice swelling with pride.

“This here is Julius Mwibetu. I named him after the great Julius Caesar of the Roman empire.”

Edmond paused, a knowing smile gracing his lips as he gestured to his second son.

“And this here is Augustus Mwibetu. Named after the great Caesar Augustus, Rome’s first true emperor. They are coming from Spain, they just arrived today. They just arrived from Spain today, where they were inspecting some satellite equipment for us. On top of that, they run Mwibetu Holdings out of Germany.”

To this, there was a light applause from the guests.

The jealousy in Henry spiked at this point, a bitter, almost painful surge. He craved to be spoken of like that, to have his existence tied to such grand, historical Roman figures, to be acknowledged as a Mwibetu. Deep down, in that moment, he was reminded that his own father was a nobody. And to make matters worse, his father had never even cared for this kind of power or legacy.

Just when he thought the night had reduced him to pure, crushing humiliation, Edmond returned to the microphone a few moments later with another announcement.

“Friends, I also want to introduce someone to you. You may all be wondering why he is dressed in a suit while the rest of you are casual. I’ll tell you why: he is the next Governor of Miraje. Henry Zamunda,” Edmond declared, his voice cutting through the chatter.

Henry couldn’t believe his ears. He stared at Edmond, unable to process the words cutting through the garden breeze. His hands began to shake so wildly that he had to set his glass down on the table to keep from dropping it. Heat surged through his blood. This was, without a doubt, the greatest moment of his life.

He managed to wave his hand—deliberately using the one bearing his watch to let everyone see it.

The guests applauded him, and some stretched out their hands to shake his, their expressions shifting from polite curiosity to genuine interest.

With that single gesture, the bitterness evaporated. The shame, the envy, the sting of his father’s insignificance—all of it vanished in an instant. An intoxicating high of validation took its place. In that fraction of a second, he was the happiest man on earth.

“And Henry, nice touch with the Rolex Daytona!” the Apex Life MD called out from the crowd.

A ripple of laughter swept through the guests, but for Henry, the comment sealed it. He was the center of attention. The rich people were measuring him, and he had passed. At least he felt that way.

Edmond possessed a rare, dangerous gift—the ability to buy absolute loyalty without spending a dime, simply by granting a man his fondest illusion. But Henry was too intoxicated to see it any other way. To him, this was his official initiation into the elite.

How could he ever walk away from this? How could he ever say no to a man like Edmond? He had spent his entire life running from his father’s insignificance, starving for a seat at this table. Now he was here. He was home—and finally, he was somebody.

At least, he felt that way.

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© An original Lapatutu Story.

Henry has officially been initiated into the club of the rich. But he is about to find out that there are people who want him to be Governor even more than he wants it for himself. See you next Wednesday.