The Cracking Throne

The will of Edirin Oboro (2)

"At the end of the eighteen-month period, the vertical that shows the highest percentage growth in revenue, stakeholder value, and market position — as assessed by an independent board I have already constituted — shall absorb the other three. Its leader shall become majority shareholder and Group CEO of the reconstituted Oboro Holdings."

Silence.

Not the polite kind. The kind that has weight.

"I have not done this to be cruel. I have done this because I have watched my children long enough to know that none of them is yet the person this company requires. Perhaps the process of this competition will make one of you that person. Perhaps it will destroy some of you. That is the nature of thrones. They do not accommodate sentiment."

"The verticals, and their assignments, are as follows."

Fejiro paused. He looked up once, at all four of them. Then he continued.

"Logistics and Maritime Operations — to my son Kelechi."

Kelechi exhaled slowly. It was his home ground. Everyone knew it.

"Hotels and Hospitality — to my son Emeka."

Emeka blinked. Then nodded, very slightly, as if accepting a thing he hadn't wanted but would work with.

"Construction and Real Estate — to my daughter Chisom."

Chisom didn't move. Construction. Port Harcourt. Government contracts and contractors and men who would spend the next week deciding whether or not to take her seriously. She knew what that meant. She had always known her battles would have a particular texture.

"Media and Strategic Communications — to my daughter Adaeze."

Something crossed Adaeze's face. Something that left too quickly to name.

"The Abuja office and federal liaison operations will remain under joint management until the independent board determines which vertical has demonstrated sufficient capacity to absorb them. This will be treated as a fifth prize, available to the vertical in the lead at the twelve-month review."

Fejiro turned the page.

"I have set aside a letter for each of you. Private. To be read alone. Fejiro will distribute them after this meeting. Whatever is in your letter is between you and your father. I ask that you respect that, and that you do not weaponize what I have written in whatever war follows."

"One last thing. This house — Oboro House, Port Harcourt — is to remain common ground. Any heir who locks the others out of it forfeits a twenty percent reduction in their vertical's independent assessment score. You may hate each other. You may not make the house into a battlefield. Some things should remain clean."

"I am proud of all of you. I hope you know that. I was not always good at saying it. I am saying it now."

"Go and be worthy of the name."

Fejiro set the document down.

Nobody spoke for a long time.

Then Kelechi stood, and without looking at any of them, said, "I'll need the logistics contracts reviewed by end of week."

He walked out.

One by one, the others followed. Emeka. Then Adaeze, who paused at the door and looked back at Chisom with an expression Chisom couldn't read — not quite sympathy, not quite warning, something in between.

Then she was gone too.

Chisom sat alone in the arranged chairs, listening to the house breathe around her.

She thought about her father's voice. The way he used to say her name — Chisom — not as an address but as a statement, like he was reminding the room that she existed and that her existence was not a small matter.

Go and be worthy of the name.

She stood.

Outside, through the window, the black Mercedes was pulling away. The morning had turned bright and unreasonable, the kind of Port Harcourt light that makes everything look both beautiful and slightly merciless.

Chisom picked up her bag.

She had work to do.