CHAPTER THREE – The Circle Widens

The streets of Victoria Island pulsed with restless energy.

Night had dropped its curtain, yet the city refused sleep.

Adesuwa parked her car two blocks from the Obanla estate.

It was a modern fortress of glass and arrogance, tucked behind a wrought iron gate and two distracted guards with smartphones and rifles.

She didn't need to get inside. Not yet.

Tonight was about watching and listening.

Zee's tap into the compound's outdoor cameras was live.

She'd study the patterns and faces and wait for a thread to pull.

Inside her car, the glow of her laptop lit her cheekbones sharply.

A feed streamed silently from four angles of the estate.

The Circle's mark — a subtle sun etched within a circle —

decorated the center of the estate's front door like a family crest.

To anyone else, it looked like stylish African geometry.

But to her, it was a stain.

She sipped bottled water. Her fingers tapped rhythm on the dashboard.

Zee pinged her via secure chat.

Zee: "Guess who just arrived? Chief Obanla. And he's not alone."

Adesuwa: "Who?"

Zee: "Dean Yusuf. Unilag. And Senator Kola-Ojo."

Adesuwa: "That's three confirmed."

Zee: "Yup. The Circle's hosting dinner. Not a prayer meeting, that's for sure."

Adesuwa: "Any audio feed?"

Zee: "Working on it. Give me a few."

Adesuwa's thoughts wandered as she watched the shadows mingle inside the mansion.

Juwon had connected dots — names, positions, transactions.

Now they were convening, perhaps to clean up loose ends.

She didn't plan to become one of those.

The next morning, Adesuwa sat across from a balding man with a lion's stare.

Chief Obanla.

He didn't know who she was — just another consultant requesting sponsorship for a fictitious NGO.

The receptionist had ushered her in after she flashed a credible business card,

one Zee had generated under the name "Dr. Maya Onwuzulike – Educational Inclusion Network."

Obanla's office reeked of wealth:

Leather seats, ancient wood shelves, and a lion's head in bronze above the window.

"So, Dr. Maya," he said, voice syrupy, eyes sharp.

"What does your initiative want from my foundation?"

Adesuwa smiled tightly. "Just access. To reach underserved youth in Ajegunle. We've mapped trends of trauma linked to education dropouts. We'd like your support on the ground."

Obanla leaned back. His fingers drummed once on the armrest.

"Why Ajegunle?"

Bait.

She took it. "One of our case subjects, Juwon Bakare, grew up there. He showed promise. But…"

She trailed off.

Obanla didn't blink. "That tragedy. I read about it."

"Indeed," she replied. "He was looking into networks on campus… links between dropout clusters and mental health. We hope to finish what he started."

That got a reaction — a flicker in his jawline, a pause.

"You knew him?" he asked.

Adesuwa gave a sad smile. "We crossed paths. Briefly. I admired his spirit."

Obanla stood. That was her cue.

"I'll have my assistant get back to you," he said flatly.

"Thank you for coming."

She stood too, offered a firm handshake.

As he escorted her out, she dropped a tiny device from her sleeve — a pebble-sized mic-bug — behind his desk.

Once in her car, she texted Zee.

Adesuwa: "Planted."

Zee: "Signal's clean. Let's see what lions whisper."

That evening, her flat was warm with silence and tension.

Tunde Jola sat on her couch, arms crossed, studying a printed screenshot of the estate's night guests.

"We can't accuse these men on speculation."

Adesuwa poured two mugs of tea. "We're past speculation. We're in confirmation."

She handed him the bug-feed log.

Obanla had made a call to an unlisted number an hour after she left.

The transcript, thanks to Zee's AI speech recon:

Obanla: "She knows about Juwon."

Voice: "Then she joins the list. You know the rules."

Obanla: "She's not just another journalist."

Voice: "That's worse. Handle it."

Obanla: "We'll convene tomorrow. The Circle agrees."

Voice: "Then it is done."

Tunde cursed under his breath.

"This is enough to make them sweat."

Adesuwa shook her head. "Sweat won't break them. Exposure might. But we need more. Proof of the ritual. The fund movements. The deaths they orchestrated."

"Then we need someone from the inside," Tunde said slowly. "A witness."

Amaka returned to the story.

Reluctantly.

After a midnight message and a safe-house location, she agreed to meet them.

She wore a hoodie two sizes too big, and her voice quivered.

"I didn't want to say this before…" she began, eyes darting around the candlelit safehouse.

"But Juwon left something with me. In case something happened."

She reached into her backpack and pulled out a USB drive.

"He said if he ever… disappeared, I should find someone called 'Zee.' I figured… that's you."

Adesuwa nodded, accepting the drive carefully.

Zee decrypted the contents within the hour.

A full dossier:

Membership rosters.

Dates.

Photos.

Ritual descriptions.

One video.

The video showed a masked gathering in the woods — somewhere outside Lagos.

Candles, chanting, a young man bound at the center.

And a voice in the crowd unmistakably belonging to Senator Kola-Ojo, quoting the same line from the first audio:

"Blood must bind. Truth to lie…"

Zee's voice trembled through the group call.

"We have it. This is it."

Tunde stared at the screen, jaw slack.

"They'll come for us now."

Adesuwa breathed in deeply.

"Let them come."