Chapter Four: Embers and Evidence

The next morning, Lagos was on fire.

Not literally—but the digital streets were ablaze.

BREAKING: Billionaire Chief Nwosu Linked to Offshore Accounts — Leaks Suggest Executive Assistant is Courier for Sensitive Data.

Beneath the headline was a blurred photo of Amaka exiting Echelon Holdings the night before, her purse slung tight over her shoulder. The caption read:

"Is this Lagos' newest Mata Hari or a pawn in a corporate chess game?"

Amaka stared at the headline from her phone on the BRT bus, the image casting a ghostly shadow across her face. The bus was quiet, but her ears rang. Her pulse pounded in her temples. She hadn't even sat down before two schoolgirls behind her started whispering.

"Is that not the woman on the news?"

"She fine o, but look how they're dragging her."

"Hmm, Lagos no dey forget gist like this."

She got off two stops early, legs weak beneath her.

She wanted to disappear. But she wasn't built that way.

Obinna sat in his car at the company's underground parking garage, fists clenched.

Kunle sat beside him, phone in hand. "Sir… they went live with it at 5 a.m. First the blogs. Then the punch. Even the BBC's calling it 'NwosuGate.'"

Obinna didn't flinch. "They used her as bait. They knew the optics would explode if they tied her name to foreign accounts."

"Should I arrange an emergency press conference?"

"No." His voice was iron. "That's what they want. Chaos. Panic. Let them think we're wounded."

"And the girl?"

Obinna turned his head slowly. "Bring her to the suite. Now."

Amaka stood outside the revolving doors of Echelon's skyscraper, heart racing. Security hadn't stopped her. In fact, they were eerily polite. She was buzzed up to the penthouse floor without question.

When she entered the private executive suite, Obinna was waiting—alone.

No assistant. No advisors. Just him.

He didn't smile. Didn't greet her.

He slid the morning newspaper across the desk. Her face stared back.

"They've made you the center of the storm," he said.

She sat down slowly, hands trembling. "They called me a courier. A seductress. A spy."

He leaned forward, voice low. "But I know who you are."

She met his gaze. "Do you?"

"Yes. You're the woman who gave me truth when everyone else offered silence. And now… you're holding a flash drive that could crush everything Danjuma has built."

Amaka pulled it from her bag and dropped it on the table.

"I don't want to be in the middle of this war," she said. "I just wanted to do my job. Sell my art. Sleep in peace."

"I know."

"But you dragged me into this. Because you felt something."

He stood slowly. Walked to the window.

"I didn't drag you in. I fell… and you happened to be the only one not reaching for a knife."

Silence stretched between them.

Then Obinna turned, something flickering in his eyes. "The board has called an emergency vote. Danjuma's people will use this scandal to push me out."

"Can they do that?"

He nodded once. "If public perception weakens me enough, yes."

Amaka swallowed. "So… what happens now?"

He crossed the room and placed the flash drive back into her hand.

"You choose."

She stared at him. "What?"

"You choose whether to hand this to the media, the police, or destroy it. If you expose Danjuma, they'll come for you harder. If you stay silent, they'll say you're guilty. And if you run…"

"…then I prove them right," she finished.

He didn't argue.

Instead, he reached into his desk and handed her a second envelope.

Inside: a deed. A legal business registration. A $25,000 bank transfer confirmation.

She blinked. "This is…"

"Your décor business," he said. "Fully registered. Branded. Trademarked. And funded for a Lagos storefront."

Her hands trembled. "Why?"

"Because if I fall, I want you to rise."

She looked up, voice cracking. "I didn't ask for this."

"I know."

"And if I take this, everyone will say you paid me off."

He stepped closer. "Then let them talk. You've earned more than their gossip."

Her eyes shimmered. "This… this feels like goodbye."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "No. This is protection."

Three hours later, Amaka stood outside a gated office in Ikoyi, flash drive clenched in her palm. The name on the door: Seraph Investigations — a private anti-corruption firm working with whistleblowers.

She didn't knock yet.

She stared at the building, her breath shallow.

If she stepped through that door, she might lose everything—her peace, her anonymity, her name. But if she didn't… Obinna could lose everything he built.

She thought of the newspaper. The whispers. The storm that would never pass if no one stood in the gap.

She thought of him—standing in his office, willing to give her everything… and ask for nothing in return.

And then she stepped forward.

One knock.

Then another.

Across town, Danjuma raised a toast over lunch with two board members.

"By this time tomorrow," he said, "the Chief will be history."

He didn't see the shadow slip a flash drive into Seraph's internal network.

Didn't see the agent's eyes widen.

Didn't see the tide begin to turn.

But he would.

Oh, he would.