15% per sector

The final problem was one he wasn't even sure was a problem. According to what Mr. Obi had said during their brief meeting, he was officially recognized as a sovereign entity due to his situation.

However, the World Bank didn't have the authority to do that. Only the United Nations held such authority, which meant that the world's leaders knew who he was.

They might consider him inconsequential—after all, he was just a 21-year-old, and statistically, the chances of him utilizing the money in a sensible manner were low.

However, they might also be rational and consider his wealth rather than his age. The fact that he was rich enough to outspend any nation in the world was something that even he would consider a threat.

"At least this one is easier to find out," David noted.

If world leaders considered him a threat, he would soon start seeing their influence—positive or negative. These were the major issues facing him, but he had yet to solve the most important one of all.

How would he reinvest this money into the economy?

Taking out the file containing his bank account documents and other papers, David began reading through the list of limitations again. The restrictions were both extremely limiting and lax at the same time.

"Ten to fifteen percent of any sector... It's a limitation, but why does it seem so lax?" David questioned as he looked over the contract he had signed.

There were many things he found distasteful about the contract, but if he was right about what he'd just read, then he may have found a way to solve his number one issue.

"Let me see…" he muttered, trailing off as he pulled out his phone.

The advantage of living in today's era was that information was quite literally everywhere, and nowadays, several projects had been designed to gather all that information in one place.

"Finally, I can pay for premium," David said as he quickly tapped an icon.

It was a fairly popular app, one that almost everyone had on their phones, but not everyone could afford to pay for its premium package despite how convenient and helpful it was: ChatGPT.

David couldn't even begin to describe how helpful the AI model had been in his life. From summarizing notes to helping with long and tedious assignments, it had been indispensable. Now, it would help him figure out if his thoughts about this contract were correct.

David took a picture of the relevant section of the contract and uploaded it, then immediately began questioning the AI:

"To ensure the preservation of the global economy, the Sovereign Entity shall be restricted from acquiring, either directly or indirectly, more than fifteen percent (15%) ownership or control of any sector within the realm of foreign trade."

This clause brought a smile to his face. It was the perfect way to make most of the money disappear. The clause prevented him from owning more than 15% of any sector of global foreign trade.

It was very clear what that meant, but this was a contract—he needed to be as meticulous as possible if he didn't want any issues later.

"I can really do it?" David asked in surprise as the AI confirmed his thoughts.

The clause was too vague for him not to consider this approach... Well, he understood why it was written this way. No one expected him to squander the money so quickly or to pull off such a bold move, so they hadn't bothered to think it through.

With that realization, David immediately came up with a grand plan. Using the AI to coordinate his ideas, David found himself in a situation he found quite intriguing.

However, he knew that just because an AI said it was possible didn't mean it would hold up legally, so he didn't plan to proceed until he had confirmed it with a lawyer.

Knock knock.

A knock on the door drew his attention from the book and his phone.

"Come in," David called.

"Sir, your dinner is ready," George announced.

"Okay, thank you. I'll be there soon," David replied.

After a while, David tidied up the study and followed the butler to the dining room.

Arriving at the overwhelmingly large table, he saw the standard, somewhat annoying scene common to wealthy households: the entire table was covered with food, as though he could finish it all.

Just because he could afford it didn't mean they should cook this much only to waste it.

"George, maybe next time, tell them to ask what I want or surprise me with an appropriate meal rather than waste this much food," David said as he took his seat at the head of the table.

"Yes, sir. I will ensure the kitchen is informed," the butler replied.

"Thank you," David said, watching George pick up a plate to serve him.

David quickly pointed out what he wanted to eat, and the butler promptly served him before returning to his position behind him.

Though it was somewhat awkward having the man stand behind him and watch him eat, David didn't mind.

He knew the staff were well-compensated, and he was also aware that as soon as he left the dining room, all the food would be taken away by the staff.

This was Nigeria; they would never throw the food away. They would either eat it themselves or pack it up for their families.

"Come to think of it, George, could you please call a barber for me tomorrow? And maybe a stylist as well. Since I'm this rich, I should look the part, right?" David said as he ate.

"As you wish, sir."

"Oh, and I'll be going to school tomorrow, so if there are any plans for me, you can cancel them for now."

"Understood, sir."

"Oh, and help me set up a meeting with the vice chancellor of the school. I'll need his help to achieve a goal of mine," David instructed before returning to his food.

"As you wish, sir," George replied.

With that, silence reigned in the dining hall as David ate. This was the part he found more annoying than anything else so far. The house was too big and felt empty at the same time.

Ringtone.

"Who knows me?" David muttered, snapping out of his thoughts and picking up his phone.

Seeing the caller ID, a smile immediately appeared on his face. It seemed that he could change things very soon.

"Hello?" David answered.

"Uncle, how far? You don't even call somebody at all," a familiar female voice said over the phone.

"You know calls work both ways, right?" David replied.

"At least I called this time."

"Alright, Amarachi, what do you want?" David asked, knowing his niece well enough.

He wouldn't say he was well-off, but he did have a steady income to sustain himself.

"Aunty just called and told me there's no hostel space for me. You're staying alone, so I can stay with you, right?" Amarachi asked.

"Yes, I'm staying alone, but staying with me... Did your mother approve of this, or are you just trying to cause trouble for me?" David asked.

If there was one thing he knew about his sisters, it was that they could be quite a handful, which was why he strove to be financially independent. Amarachi's mother just happened to be the most difficult among his three sisters, and he preferred to avoid dealing with her.

"Yes, I already told her. She said she'll find me a place after my first year, but I have to stay with you for now."

"Alright, let me know when you're ready, and I'll send someone to pick you up. And don't bother your mom with any unnecessary provision lists—just the essentials, okay?"

"Okay. Wait, what about a gas cooker? Shouldn't we buy one now so it doesn't stress me later?"

"Amara, I already have a gas cooker here; buying another would just take up more space," David said, chuckling.

What was the point of getting another gas cooker? She wouldn't even be the one cooking. David found her reaction funny, though he didn't blame her.

None of his family had any idea just how rich he actually was. Even he wasn't sure how to tell them he was wealthier than their entire country. He could not only outspend Nigeria; he was far richer than it.

The country's GDP was only around $510 billion, half a trillion. That was still nothing compared to the amount he had.

"Okay, make sure you buy better food for me to eat when I come."

"If you like, don't get ready. Your matriculation is next week," David replied.