Ice Cream

Prologue One

I had it all planned.

Every moment until my last breath had been perfectly orchestrated in my head. Plotting my death appeared foreign and so difficult but as the successful businessman I had become, I managed to fix all the puzzles together.

So this faithful morning, I had woken up earlier than I often did—which was way early seeing as I was an early bird—and stared into space for fifteen minutes, wondering if there was any sadness or doubt present in me in relation to today's to-do list. Searching the deepest part of my heart for any contrary thoughts, I shrugged, realising my mind was definitely made up. I jumped out of bed, walked briskly across, reaching for the door leading to the bathroom of the enormous penthouse I owned.

Staring at my reflection on the mirror, I took in my appearance, wondering if much had changed since. I had lost a ton of weight but my zebra striped pyjamas did well to hide my emaciation. I cursed inwardly and fumbled with my toothbrush. While applying toothpaste, my fingers quivered a great deal, making my toothbrush fall and hit the sink. Shit, picking it up proved far difficult than ever before.

But I wasn't surprised.

Today made it six months since the intense quivering began. At first, I thought it was as a result of the meals I skipped so I could attend to meetings, seminars, auctions and many events that earned me more money, so I completely ignored it. However, seven nights ago, as I felt the need to clear my throat whilst taking a shower, the need to evacuate whatever icky substance in my oesophagus led me to spitting blood. That was when I knew I wasn't okay.

Selecting my favorite business attire, a black long sleeved turtle neck shirt, black pants and a black blazer, I picked up my matching designer shoes at the same time calling my driver to get ready in fifteen minutes. I was about to attend to what I agreed was my last business meeting and I needed to make a final impression. Staring at myself one last time via the elevator's side mirrors, I recalled the terrible news I received three days ago.

"Sir, it appears you have cancer. Cancer of the heart. I'm sorry."

The words of the doctor shattered my world, broke my already fragile heart and crushed my soul. It also opened my eyes to how empty a man I was. At age 35, all I could brag about was my financial prowess. As one of Canada's most successful businessmen, I could say I was filthy rich. I lost count of how many cars I had on my thirtieth birthday, owned houses and properties all over North and South America, had a successful petroleum refinery operation in Nigeria and several bakeries, wineries and breweries as well as a prominent shareholder in software companies across Canada and the United States. I made roughly seventy thousand dollars per hour which had increased by fifteen percent in recent months. Basically, I lived and breathed money.

But then, I was empty. Apart from my uncle, I had no one. I knew nothing about my real parents as I was born and dumped on the streets of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, two days later. My mother couldn't even let me enjoy her motherly warmth for a while, she left me in the cold hands of the street. I was found and taken to an orphanage where I was adopted six months later by a wealthy couple who dealt in foreign exchange. Once the adoption process was completed, they took me to live with them in their Victorian style Mansion in Québec, Canada where I grew up. Unfortunately, my parents only lived to see me graduate college. They died a year after experiencing a mysterious illness that till date, I had no idea of its source. Therefore, my dad's elder brother offered to train me in the family business. With a knack in business, soon I had accrued thrice the amount my parents made annually. Within five years, I established an empire and found myself on Forbes' list of top world billionaires. I had over five hundred thousand employees worldwide and could proudly say I had achieved a significant amount of success.