Chapter 25: The Ghosts of Alhaji and the Unbreakable Chain

The name Alhaji echoed through Yuhan's thoughts like a storm rolling in from distant memories — heavy, unsettling, and impossible to ignore. Isiaka Alhaji. A name once spoken with power and respect, now buried under layers of betrayal and silence. And now his son, "The Guardian", had stepped out of the shadows… carrying The Librarian's stolen ledger — the one document that could unravel everything.

Yuhan leaned back in his chair, the late evening shadows creeping across the walls of his study. It was July 13, 2025 — a Sunday. But there was no rest. No comfort. Only truth clawing its way out from the grave.

The silence around him buzzed with tension as he dismissed Ngozi and Dapo. "Focus on the Alhaji family. Any activity, any signal. If Abubakar Alhaji is alive… I want to know where he's been, and what he wants."

But as the team left, the image that stayed behind wasn't Mochen's face or Adekunle's schemes. It was Chike. His voice breaking. His warning. The sound of shouting before the call was cut off.

Yuhan's hands curled into fists on the desk. He had dragged that man into this war. And now he might have paid the price.

"Dapo," he said, opening a secure line, his voice low. "Take a team. Quiet. Watch the compound. If Chike's still alive… extract him. But only if you're sure. No unnecessary blood."

There was a pause. Dapo knew what that really meant — no one else dies today.

Yuhan moved to the window, gazing out over Biogbolo — the city glittering with lights, so bright they nearly drowned out the rot underneath. The city his father had once sworn to protect. The father who had taught him about justice, honor… and power.

And yet here he was, unraveling a secret that painted that same man in shadows.

Yuhan swallowed hard. Was my father a prisoner of their sins… or one of them?

The line between guilt and survival was razor thin. And Chief Adekunle had walked it with cruel precision — using secrets like chains.

But there was someone new in the game now. A man with nothing left to lose. The Guardian. The name alone sent a cold current down Yuhan's spine.

Across town, Chief Adekunle's estate was on high alert. Paranoia gripped the halls like smoke. Adekunle paced like a caged lion, his robes whispering against polished marble floors.

"He knows," Adekunle hissed, barely containing his rage. "That boy — Yuhan — he knows everything. And Chike... he's the leak. My men found the burner. He was feeding him information."

Mochen, standing by the window, didn't flinch. "Is Chike… handled?"

Adekunle's silence answered for him. Cold. Final.

But his fury was rising. "It wasn't Yuhan who took the archives. It was the Alhaji boy. He's back."

Mochen's breath hitched — just enough for the Chief to see.

"Impossible," he muttered. "He vanished. Died in exile. We would've known."

But the fear was real now. The ledger, the very thing that could burn down everything his family had built — was in the hands of a ghost.

"We underestimated him," Adekunle said bitterly. "And now we must not make that mistake again. Yuhan wants justice. But Abubakar... he wants blood."

Back at Yuhan's compound, the update came in — short and cruel.

> "Chike confirmed. Situation contained. No extraction possible."

Yuhan didn't move at first. He just stared at the message.

Chike was gone.

Yuhan closed his eyes, grief and fury tightening in his chest like a vice. Another name. Another soul lost in a war they hadn't asked for. And this time… it felt personal.

He sat down slowly, the weight of the past sinking into his bones. How many more must fall before this is over?

Ngozi's voice broke through his comms again. Calm. Steady. But what she said chilled him.

"We found something, sir. Abubakar Alhaji was just a boy when his family lost everything. Betrayed by Mochen's grandfather. And by Chief Adekunle. After the scandal, he disappeared. Everyone thought he died. But he didn't. He's alive. And now... he has the ledger."

Yuhan sat up straighter.

That ledger — the same one Mochen feared — was now in the hands of a man raised in bitterness, forged in betrayal.

He couldn't approach him with demands or arrogance. Not if he wanted an alliance.

So, he searched for a thread. A bridge. Something that still connected Abubakar to the world before it all turned to ash.

And he found it — in an old, dusty record: a small publishing house, once backed by Isiaka Alhaji himself. Still standing. Still active. Now run by an elderly woman who had once been the family's secretary. Loyal. Private. Trusted.

That was the opening.

Yuhan gathered everything he had — Meili's statement, the photograph, even copies of surveillance logs — everything except the truth about his foresight.

He wrapped it all in a secure digital packet, burned it into a private drive, and enclosed one thing more: a handwritten note.

Justice for Anya. Justice for The Librarian. The truth has a price. What is yours, Guardian.

In a quiet corner of the city, the small publishing office received the package. And somewhere far beyond, in a darkened room lit only by an old oil lamp, a hand reached for it — scarred, steady, and ready.