THE TRANSFER

At Emerald Trust Bank, Tosin Adewale was untouchable. When transactions refused to balance, executives said, “Run it through Tosin.” When numbers misbehaved, managers whispered, “Let Tosin handle it.” He never raised his voice. Never brag. He simply delivered. Mrs. Kemi Lawson noticed him the day he corrected a seven-digit discrepancy she had missed. She watched him quietly reroute the error, shield her name, and send the report upstream without drama. “You saved me,” she said, closing his office door. Tosin shrugged. “Anyone could have caught it.” She smiled. “But they didn’t.” That was how admiration began, not with flirtation, but with relief. Kemi had spent years building a reputation for control and excellence. One error could fracture that illusion. Tosin’s intervention felt like a rescue without debt. Henceforth, she found reasons to involve him. In late reviews, a second opinion: Tosin listened more than he spoke. When he did speak, he was careful, measured, he never lingered too long, never crossed a line, but he stayed just enough to matter. Kemi told herself it was professional respect. Tosin told himself it was harmless. Neither noticed how often she began to wait for his footsteps in the corridor, or how he started to anticipate her questions before she asked them. Where professionalism began to fray, something unnamed took root, patient, deliberate, and dangerously unnoticed.