“Hoffers Greenfield,” I groaned within me as I gazed upon his name on the list which Mr. President gave me.
“It isn’t possible. You can’t have the contract, Hoffers, not when I am the world richest man,” I groaned yet further, put a call across to Zion to get the entourage ready to see Mr. President.
With my entourage in the convoy we drove straight to the State House. Zion noticed the mountain of fury on my face and he reminded me of what I didn’t want to recall at the time.
“Boss did you listen to Hoffers’ speech this morning in the news? He boasted about being the only outstanding restaurant to be chosen by Mr. President for his birthday. He also said it is only his restaurant that is free from food poison…”
The creaking of the door made Zion grin as he paused
I shot my reddened face at one of the security who interrupted us by placing a newspaper before us and then added, “It is already trending , boss.” He pointed to the headlines:
Hoffers Food The Safest In Rio.
The Best Restaurant, Hoffers to Host Refreshment On Mr President’s Birth Day.
I hummed, grinned and shook my head in contention, “it not not possible. This can’t happen when I am alive as the world richest man. I am going to make Hoffers pay for every tear that surged down my cheeks; for every pain that burrowed through my heart. I will reduce Hoffers to nothing and make him beg to survive…” I pressed my lips as I gazed upon his photo with disdain.
Zion titled his neck to me, “Boss this time around we will use a permanent marker to spell Christmas on his ass. This man deserves to be a cleaner in hell. Whatever you want to do, go ahead, boss, I am strongly behind you and I am learning the art of vengeance.”
Upon halting to a stop at the state house, my security opened the door on my Ferrari and I alighted and hastened into the presidential villa snubbing through staffers that bowed and greeted me humbly.
“Greetings, Mr. President,” I greeted as soon as I gained entrance into the private ball room where he was smoking from his pipe and reading newspaper. “You seem to be too busy,” I added and forced a smile on my face even when I shouldn’t be smiling.
When he swirled around and shot a contagious smile at me, I saw he was having handy some news paper which had Hoffers Greenfield boasting about his restaurant.
“You are welcome the world richest man,” he sounded and gave a survey look at me, “You don’t seem to be too happy, Mike Don.” He clicked his fingers and his cup bearer advanced to my side and poured a mugful of ancient spirit for my dry throat.
I stared at the spirit with great appetite, had it in gulp, grinned and intoned, “The rich also cry, isn’t it? Perhaps you may think all is well with the world richest man,” I intoned, breathed uneasily and still had my eyes on the paper.
Mr. President shook his head in disapproval, “Every other rich person could cry but certainly not you the world richest man. You don’t have any reason to cry because you can afford anything under the sun, huh.” He advanced forward while he had a sip, “You are not called the world richest man for nothing and I wish I were you, you know.” His lips smacked in agreement.
I smirked and folded my arms, “If indeed I could afford everything under the sun, why did Mr. President make decisions for me even after taking sole responsibility of his birthday, huh?”
His eyes narrowed at me, before he winked nervously and snorted in shock, “Decisions?” he queried and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, “How do you mean, Mike Don? Ever since you took my birthday upon yourself I have never decided anything for you except in the area of choosing a restaurant for my birthday which I chose Hoffers after tasting their sumptuous poison-free pasta.” He shut his eyes and gave a nod, “Not only did I they apply proper hygiene while preparing the food, it is also very spicy and delicious.”
I shook my head in disapproval, “I don’t think so, Mr. President. Same pasta you speak of murdered my dog after consuming it a few nights ago. I just kept within myself and refused to go public about it. Hoffers Foods are poisonous and not fit for consumption.”
Mr. President stood gaping at me and holding his sizeable stomach as if he could put his hand right into it and bring out the pasta.
“This is unbelievable,” Mr President shrugged and narrowed his eyes before placing his hands on the stomach, “And to think of the fact that this is coming from the best restaurant in Rio Hondo gets me thinking.” His blue eyes were watery now and it was evidence of the fear ongoing in his heart, “What do we do now, Mike?” he queried and leaned forward to a paper, “Look what we have here for my birthday. Hoffers Food has been chosen to host the refreshment on the occasion.”
I shook my head repeatedly in disapproval, “Hell no, Mr President. Since I am the one sponsoring your birthday, I am not going to hire the services of Hoffers food. They are bunch of poison. I know who I am going to recommend for the refreshment. If I were you I would have nothing to do with Hoffers food in your entire life unless you want to die of food poisoning like my mad dog,” I lied.
“God forbid!” the president rebuked with repeated clicking of the fingers. “Was your dog mad?” he asked through frown.
Hoffers’ poisonous food made him mad before dying,” I replied coldly.
His jaw sagged as he conceded, and shot a fearful gaze at me. “I can’t appreciate you for this piece of information, the world richest man. You just saved my life and that of Rio Hondo. I am going to withdraw the contract from him and wait for the restaurant you are going to recommend.” He pushed out his hand and we had a warm handshake.
“Hoffer Greenfield, you will suffer in my hands. Watch out!” I nagged in my head as I smiled at Mr. President.