The Storms Assemble

The jet descended smoothly onto the wide tarmac, its engines humming like a mechanical beast catching its breath after a long journey. I glanced out of the window and frowned. About a dozen private planes were also descending from the sky, each one bearing the unmistakable insignia of my extended family.

A horde of annoying uncles and aunties from five long, exhausting generations of the Storm Clan were gathering. Lucky me.

I sighed and stuck out my tongue, a childish gesture that felt oddly appropriate. I hated being here. These people weren't just relatives-they were a circus of self-important, sharp-tongued, and insufferable characters, all united by their ability to make my life miserable.

And me? Oh, I was the circus act they couldn't quite tame.

Sure, they were sharp and ruthless, their insults cutting like razors. But none of them could match me. After years of watching them lose arguments to a child-yours truly-I had somehow graduated to the rank of "The Red Line." They loathed me but wouldn't dare cross me.

I stood up with a stretch and a yawn, my coat brushing against the plush seat. It was time to face the lions in their den.

Granny's plane was parked a few meters away, a shiny beast that gleamed under the midday sun.

A stewardess approached me, holding out a black trench coat as if presenting some sacred garment. I slid into it without a word, letting the familiar weight settle on my shoulders.

At the exit, Mr. Bryan was waiting. Ever the picture of professionalism, he gave a slight bow and handed me my dark shades. I slipped them on, shoved my hands into the deep pockets of my coat, and stepped onto the extensible staircase.

The moment my shoes hit the pavement, I couldn't help but smile.

Ahead of me, towering like a monument to arrogance and ambition, stood the Storm Dome.

This place was the very heart of the Storm Clan-an architectural masterpiece that served as both a symbol of power and a battleground for insults. Every brick screamed extravagance, from the artistically blended colors to the enormous, hemispherical roof that shimmered like glass under the sunlight.

It was a palace for royalty-or in this case, a gaggle of proud, senile lunatics.

"If only something this beautiful wasn't wasted on them," I muttered under my breath.

Behind me, the usual chaos unfolded. Relatives reunited with fake smiles plastered across their faces, exchanging coated compliments and venomous jabs in the same breath. I ignored it all and strode purposefully toward the automatic doors.

Of course, my peace was short-lived.

"Miss Ada," a familiar voice called, smooth and patronizing.

I groaned inwardly. Of course, it had to be Uncle Carter, flanked by his ever-present goons in black suits. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, that infuriating smile plastered on his face.

"Uncle," I greeted flatly as I approached.

"How are you doing, my dear?" he asked, his tone oozing false concern.

I forced a polite smile. "Healthy, thank you."

"That's good to hear," he said, his smile widening as if he thought we were old friends. "Your father is quite the gentleman-always improving our image in public. I'm sure you'll follow in his footsteps when you grow up, won't you?"

Oh, I loved where this was going.

"Of course," I said sweetly. "Daddy is my role model. I'm a well-behaved daughter who loves her daddy very much."

His smile faltered ever so slightly, but he recovered quickly. "That's wonderful to hear. We'll be expecting great things from you."

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes as if studying him. "Uncle, tell me the truth. Did you get your gender changed?"

His expression froze. "What?!"

I waved it off with a casual shrug. "Oh, sorry, my mistake. It's just... there's so much meat on your ass, and your chest is looking busty. For a moment, I almost mistook you for a sexy woman. Honestly, if you posed as a stripper and wiggled that butt really hard, I bet some rich man would claim you. Gosh, I'm so jealous."

His jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. "I suppose I should work harder to stay in shape."

"Come on, Uncle. Any man would desire you."

We stared at each other, smiling like fools.

Bored, I broke the silence. "See you around, Lady Uncle," I called over my shoulder as I jogged toward the door, leaving him stewing in whatever emotions I'd stirred up.

The hallway inside the Storm Dome was as pristine and intimidating as ever, with white marble floors that gleamed under the light. I took a deep breath, savoring the cool, unpolluted air. Compared to the stifling atmosphere outside, this was heaven.

"Miss Ada, the Madam requests your presence in her quarters," Mr. Adam, one of Granny's ever-loyal attendants, informed me.

I sighed dramatically, rolling my eyes for good measure. This woman won't even give me five minutes of peace.

"Fine," I muttered, adjusting my coat as I walked past him.

Ignoring the curious glances and hushed whispers of passersby, I made my way through the labyrinthine hallways until I reached the familiar pink double doors of Granny's study.

"Stay outside," I ordered the entourage of attendants trailing behind me.

They all bowed in unison, a coordinated display of servitude that would have amused me if I weren't so tired.

Without bothering to knock, I pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

Granny sat cross-legged on her favorite swivel chair, a file in her hand. She was the epitome of power and elegance, her piercing eyes scanning the documents in front of her. But as I entered, her attention shifted, and those sharp eyes fixed on me.

Behind her stood Mason and Charles, the two men who had the audacity to vanish without a word for weeks. They looked as imposing as ever, Mason with his broad shoulders and fur coat, and Charles with his sharp features and ever-present scowl.

I ignored them both, heading straight for the pink cushion at the far end of the room-my favorite spot.

"Ada," Granny said, her tone clipped. "What gave you the boldness to open the door without knocking?"

I plopped down onto the cushion, yawning theatrically. "Granny, I'm hungry. Can I get some beef jerky and a soda? Anything but lemon."

Granny rolled her eyes. "Child, I don't make jerky or manufacture soda."

I stomped my feet in mock frustration. "Not fair, Granny! Other grandmothers spoil their grandchildren, but you don't. You never pamper me."

Behind her, Mason chuckled softly. "Lass, how about I hook you up with some special beef jerky after the meeting wraps up?"

"You!" I snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Don't think I've forgotten what you and Charles pulled. Disappearing without a word? Leaving me to deal with these vultures all by myself? And now you're here, bribing me with beef jerky like I'm some kind of-"

"Foodie?" Charles interjected, smirking.

I glared at him, biting my lower lip. Damn it, he was right. I was a sucker for good food, and they both knew it.

"You won't like it anyway," Charles added with a shake of his head. "It's maple syrup-flavored jerky. Too sweet for someone like you."

My resolve wavered. Maple syrup? I hated how tempting that sounded.

"Fine," I said, trying to sound indifferent. "I'll accept your bribe. But don't think this means I've forgiven you!"

Mason shook his head, his expression unreadable.

"Ada," Granny called, her voice cutting through the banter like a blade. "We're under a lot of pressure right now. I need you to be serious."

I straightened up immediately, my playful demeanor vanishing. Granny didn't use that tone unless things were dire.

Satisfied, she leaned back in her chair. "Recently, our expansion has been progressing rapidly. Last year, we took a new initiative-investing heavily in diamond mines across the globe. Now, we control nearly a third of the world's diamond supply."

I raised an eyebrow. I already knew most of this, but if Granny was bringing it up, it had to be connected to Dad's situation.

"With such dominance comes complications," she continued. "Several governments are demanding that we relinquish control of the mines within their borders. In exchange, they've promised capital compensation and, most importantly, to stop pursuing your father's case."

"Let me guess," I said, leaning forward. "They see us as a threat."

Granny nodded. "Exactly. They're pushing hard, and while the offer seems fair, I need to know where you stand."

I didn't even have to think about it. "Absolutely not. If we let them bully us into submission, we'll lose our edge. They'll see us as weak, and that's unacceptable."

"And if they declare war on us?" Granny asked, her eyes narrowing.

I smirked. "Then we'll give them one. If they push too hard, we can always seize the diamonds and watch their economies crumble."

Granny studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.

"Do you think your father is guilty?" she asked.

The question caught me off guard. For a moment, I was silent, considering my answer.

"It doesn't matter," I said finally. "Dad isn't perfect, but he's too proud to stoop to corruption. He doesn't even take a salary for his office because he thinks it's beneath him."

Granny nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. She stood abruptly, her movements sharp and decisive. "It's time," she said, motioning for Mason and Charles to follow her.

I sighed, reluctantly getting to my feet.

Granny led the way through the grand hallways, her presence commanding respect from everyone we passed. I clicked my tongue in annoyance, dreading the inevitable confrontation that awaited us.

When we entered the main hall, the noise hit me like a wave.

The room was enormous, dominated by a massive marble table that gleamed under the chandeliers. Around it sat about fifty men and women, all dressed to the nines in luxurious clothing and exuding an air of arrogance.

The Storm Clan in all its glory.

The men were puffing on their beloved cigars, while the women sipped wine from crystal glasses. Laughter and the clinking of poker chips filled the air as they engaged in their favorite pastime-gambling.

I spotted Dad at the far end of the table, laughing uproariously as he flipped over his cards.

"You old fart!" he shouted at another man, his voice carrying over the din. "Pay up! I told you nobody beats a professional."

I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at my lips. Only my father could pull this off-laughing and gambling while being one of the most wanted men in the world.

Chioma, my cousin, sat cross-legged in the center of the room, surrounded by our uncles, engaging in a mix of light chatter and heated debates. It always amazed me how easily she blended in with them-like she was born to be a part of their old-school, power-driven world. Chioma's business acumen was legendary, and as usual, she was deep in those dry, mind-numbing discussions about market trends and investments, while the rest of them nodded in approval.

Unlike me-who spent most of my time looking for excuses to do absolutely nothing-Chioma had already cemented her place in the family business. Last I checked, she was the regional manager for Brazil or something. Not that I was keeping track.

Honestly, it's good that the girl's finally putting her brain to work. Better her than me, I suppose. I just want to keep being lazy, that's kind of my forte.

As if on cue, she spotted me and, without missing a beat, adjusted her designer glasses, rolling her eyes like I'd just ruined her whole day. I stuck my tongue out at her.

Our version of a "hello."

I plopped down in the chair that had been reserved for me at the farthest end of the table, right next to Granny's seat.

The moment Granny settled at the head of the table, the chaos in the room died instantly, as if her mere presence was a command for silence.