Excellent. Here's Chapter 3: God of the Market from The Price of Gold, continuing with the theme of how money controls not just systems, but the human mind. This chapter centers on Dr. Kelvin Dairo — the voice of conscience in a corrupt world.
"Money used to serve us. Now we serve it — with our time, our peace, even our souls."
Dr. Kelvin Dairo stood in front of his economics class like a preacher in a world where his gospel was constantly rejected.
The students sat in rows, phones in hand, faces glazed over with either fatigue or apathy. Some were watching crypto price charts. Others, TikTok influencers preaching "how to make 7 figures by doing nothing."
He took a deep breath, then tapped on the projector remote. A new slide appeared:
"The Invisible God: How the Market Became Our Master."
Kelvin turned slowly toward the class.
"When was the last time you made a decision not based on money?"
Silence.
"Choosing a course, dating someone, helping your family, or even voting—how many of those choices were truly free from the influence of cash?"
A hand rose timidly.
"But sir, isn't money just a tool?"
Kelvin smiled sadly.
"That's what we're told. But ask yourself this—if money is just a tool, why does it control your self-worth, your relationships, your future? Why do people kill for it? Die for it? Worship those who have it?"
He paused.
"We've replaced faith, family, and morality with finance. We no longer ask if something is right. We only ask if it's profitable."
After the lecture, a student approached him.
"Sir… do you really believe we can change anything?"
Kelvin studied the young man. He had tired eyes, a worn shirt, and the hunger of someone balancing school, survival, and broken dreams.
"I believe we have to try," Kelvin said. "But first, we must understand how deep the chains go."
He handed the student a flyer — one that read:
"Join the Free Will Society: Where we think beyond the money."
The student nodded slowly and walked away.
Kelvin watched him disappear into the crowd and wondered if he'd ever come back.
That evening, Kelvin sat in his cluttered apartment surrounded by old books, research notes, and a cracked laptop screen. His work wasn't funded. No big media covered him. His ideas were too inconvenient for sponsors.
But he kept writing — articles, lectures, essays that exposed the silent warfare of capitalism: how banks create debt to enslave nations, how billionaires shape government policy, how wealth determines who gets justice, education, and even breath in a hospital.
He remembered a line from a mentor long ago:
"The most dangerous slave is the one who thinks he's free."
Kelvin saw it every day.
Young people chasing "soft life" on social media. Parents shaming their kids for not becoming "someone with money." Churches preaching prosperity instead of grace. Nations printing money to stay afloat, while the poor drowned quietly.
And the rich?
They didn't even need to raise their voices.
They just moved the market — and the world obeyed.
His phone buzzed.
An anonymous message popped up:
"You've made too many enemies. Back off."
He stared at it, heart pounding — not in fear, but in confirmation.
He was getting close.
At that same moment, in a high-rise on the other side of the city, Tonia Wale was replaying the voice note Jude had sent her earlier.
"…You can keep building palaces on broken bones. Or you can build something that outlives you."
She felt the weight of it pressing on her. Was it guilt? Or simply the realization that everything she'd built could collapse with one leak?
Then another message came.
From Kelvin Dairo.
"There's a war coming. Not with guns — but with information. If you still have a conscience, join me."
She stared at it, frozen.
Jude on one side. Kelvin on the other.
Both dangerous. Both correct in their own way.
But Tonia had built her empire by standing in the middle — profiting off the chaos.
Now, for the first time, she had to choose.
Back at the university, Kelvin opened his email to a shocking subject line:
RE: URGENT. JUDE IKENNA WANTS TO MEET.
Attached was no text. Just a location. Anonymous.
Kelvin leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.
"Why would a cyber-criminal want to talk to a moral economist?"
He closed the laptop.
He was going to find out.