The August 1610 sun climbed high over Surat's thriving port, its rays glinting off the Tapti River as the Vora Trading Company's beachfront complex pulsed with unstoppable momentum. The Vora Grand Hotel's glass panels caught the light, its rooms hosting lingering nobles from Jahangir's visit. The restaurant's butter chicken and spicy biryani drew crowds, the medicine shop's Surat's Elixir and Pain's Whisper flew off shelves, the clothing store's Vora's Durable Thread outfits sold out daily, and Kofi's blacksmith shop hammered out tools that vanished into merchants' hands. Vora Heights' foundations deepened on the 18,000-square-foot Tapti plot, its event hall and apartments rising like a promise. Jai Vora, nine years old but commanding an empire, stood in the courtyard, the sea breeze carrying the clang of forges and the scent of spices. The Emperor System, his secret AI-spirit guide, buzzed: "Vora's a machine, kid. Heights done, factory land bought, workers hired—you're a one-man Mughal dynasty. But the EIC's plotting; don't let your guard down."
Jai's Wisdom had been tireless, scanning the 1,200 new workers with the system's overlay, marking talents in a leather-bound book. "Strength for soldiers, craftsmanship for shops, people-pleasing for sales," he murmured, flipping pages. He summoned Amir, his Bladework a steady anchor. "Amir, these 150—high Strength, pick them for guards. Train them hard; they're our shield." Amir nodded, his voice firm. "They'll be unbreakable, Jai. With Nishil and Dhruv, we'll forge a wall around Vora." Jai's eyes glinted. "Good. The other 100 to 120—steady hands, fast learners, people-pleasers—send them to the blacksmith shop for Kofi, the medicine shop for Amma, the clothing store for Ravi and Manoj. Craftsmanship for glass and denim, charm for customers."
Anil, overseeing the restaurant branch's takeaway line, approached, his Wisdom steady. "Beta, the Tapti plot's ours—30,000 square feet on the outskirts, as you wanted. Cheap land, but with your factory and worker homes, it'll be a town of its own." Jai clasped his shoulder. "Perfect, Papa. Build the factory first—spice packaging, bulk storage. Then homes, shops, a stable—everything workers need. Rent the houses, cut wages, but make them loyal. They live, work, thrive under Vora." Anil chuckled, pride swelling. "A community? Jai, you're turning Surat into your kingdom. The emperor's coins made it possible—thousands, a fortune."
Leela joined, her sari fluttering, carrying a ledger. "The medicine shop's ready, beta. Elixir and Pain's Whisper are hits—nobles buy bottles, workers take leaf packets. Guardian's for the rich, as you said." Jai's grin was sly. "Good, Amma. Free samples hooked them; now the profits flow." The system pinged: "Worker town? You're a feudal lord with a modern twist, kid. The EIC'll hate it."
In Kofi's forge, the heat was a furnace as Jai watched apprentices test the 22 luxury carts. "Springs coil like springs," an apprentice said, bouncing a cart. Kofi boomed, "Rubber tires grip the ruts—nobles'll pay double." Jai nodded. "Deliver 20 to Jahangir in Agra, two to Vikram Singh. The emperor's pleased, but we need more orders." Kofi laughed. "They'll come, Jai. Your carts glide like dreams."
A month later, Vora Heights stood complete, its six stories towering over Surat's skyline, a blend of Mughal arches and Jai's modern flair—shops bustling, the restaurant branch serving takeaway biryani, the event hall echoing with music, apartments housing allies, and the Vora family's penthouse a riverside crown with glass walls and teak balconies. The family moved in, Anil marveling at the view. "Jai, this is our throne." Leela hugged him. "A home for generations, beta." Jai's heart swelled, the system buzzing: "Penthouse life? You're the kid who built a castle. But Surat's yours—now conquer the empire."
No grand opening this time—Vora Heights opened quietly, its shops and hall filling with merchants and feasts. Jai, realizing the scale of his empire, summoned Sarita and Amir. "We need 2,000 more workers.. Dhruv, go to Ahmedabad—ask Vikram Singh for hands, loyal ones." Dhruv bowed, his scar twitching. "He'll send them, Jai. Your name's gold there." The system pinged: "2,000 workers? You're a general now, kid. Vora's huge—keep the EIC out, or they'll sabotage your roads."
Jai's hatred for the EIC flared, but with thousands under his command, Vora Trading Company was an unstoppable force, its business growing like the Tapti's tide.