Chapter 4: Ghosts of Power
1322 Words
Adebola didn’t remember leaving the office.
One moment she was staring at Chinedu, her chest tight with fear and suspicion, and the next she was seated in the back of her car, Lagos traffic crawling past her like a slow-moving nightmare.
Her father.
She hadn’t visited him in two weeks.
Guilt settled heavily in her chest.
Since his stroke, he had been moved to a private rehabilitation center in Ikoyi — one of the best in the country. Doctors said recovery was possible, but slow. Painfully slow.
And while she fought to keep his empire alive… he lay in a hospital bed, unaware of how close everything was to collapsing.
The car pulled into the facility driveway.
Adebola inhaled deeply before stepping out.
The rehabilitation center smelled of antiseptic and quiet sorrow.
Machines beeped softly somewhere down the hallway. Nurses walked briskly past, their calm professionalism doing little to ease the dread crawling under Adebola’s skin.
She paused outside Room 407.
Her father’s room.
Her hand hovered over the door handle.
For a second, she considered turning back. Staying in the safety of boardrooms and contracts felt easier than seeing the man who had once been invincible reduced to fragile silence.
But she pushed the door open anyway.
Mr. Lawson lay against white pillows, thinner than she remembered. His once commanding presence now softened by illness. The strong businessman who built Lawson Holdings from a single textile stall looked… small.
Her throat tightened.
“Daddy…” she whispered softly.
His eyes flickered toward her. Recognition slowly warmed his tired gaze.
Adebola rushed to his bedside, taking his hand gently.
“I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner,” she said, blinking rapidly to stop the tears threatening to fall. “Work has been…”
She stopped.
He squeezed her fingers weakly.
It was barely noticeable… but it shattered her.
“You shouldn’t be worrying about the company,” she continued quietly. “Just focus on getting better. I’m handling everything.”
His lips parted slightly, struggling to form words. The stroke had damaged his speech, leaving most conversations reduced to whispers and gestures.
“…careful…” he rasped.
Adebola leaned closer.
“What, Daddy?”
His eyes sharpened — suddenly alert, almost urgent.
“…trust… nobody…”
A chill ran down her spine.
Before she could ask more, a knock interrupted them.
She turned.
And froze.
Standing at the door was a tall woman dressed in an elegant cream suit, her posture straight, confidence radiating effortlessly. Her expression carried a polished smile… but her eyes held something colder.
“Adebola,” the woman said smoothly. “It’s been a long time.”
Adebola stood slowly.
“Aunty Morenike,” she said cautiously.
Morenike Lawson.
Her father’s younger sister.
The woman who once helped build Lawson Holdings… before leaving years ago after a mysterious family disagreement nobody spoke about anymore.
Morenike walked into the room gracefully, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor.
“I heard about my brother’s condition,” she said, placing her handbag carefully on the visitor chair. “I came as soon as I returned from London.”
Adebola stiffened slightly.
“How thoughtful,” she said politely.
Morenike turned toward Mr. Lawson, her expression softening with what looked like genuine sadness.
“You’ve done well, big brother,” she murmured. “But empires don’t survive on memories.”
Adebola’s stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?” she asked carefully.
Morenike smiled faintly.
“It means… I’ve been reviewing the company’s performance.”
Adebola’s pulse quickened.
“And?” she asked.
“And I’m concerned,” Morenike replied calmly. “Investors withdrawing. Supplier disputes. Rumors of financial instability.”
Adebola’s jaw clenched.
“I’m managing it,” she said firmly.
Morenike turned toward her fully now, studying her like a puzzle.
“You’re twenty-one,” she said softly. “You’ve barely stepped into this world. Lawson Holdings is not a student project, Adebola. It is a war zone.”
The words hit harder than Adebola expected.
“I didn’t ask for help,” Adebola replied sharply.
“No,” Morenike agreed calmly. “But the board did.”
Silence exploded inside the room.
Adebola blinked.
“What are you talking about?”
Morenike reached into her handbag and pulled out a folder, placing it neatly on the bedside table.
“The board has formally requested my return as Executive Director… effective immediately.”
The air left Adebola’s lungs.
Her father’s hand tightened weakly around hers.
“No…” he whispered hoarsely.
Morenike glanced at him sympathetically.
“This is temporary, brother. Until the company stabilizes.”
Adebola felt heat rise behind her eyes.
“You mean until you take control,” she said coldly.
Morenike’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“If I wanted control, Adebola… you wouldn’t even be sitting in that office.”
Later that evening, Adebola stormed into her penthouse apartment, anger vibrating through her entire body. She threw her bag onto the couch, pacing the living room like a trapped animal.
Her phone buzzed.
Chinedu.
She stared at it for several seconds before answering.
“Yes?” she said tightly.
“You left the office suddenly,” he said. “Is everything alright?”
She hesitated.
For a moment, she considered lying. Pretending everything was fine. Keeping her vulnerability locked away.
But she was exhausted.
“My aunt is back,” she said quietly.
Silence.
“Morenike Lawson?” he asked carefully.
“You know her?” Adebola asked, surprised.
“I’ve heard stories,” he admitted.
She laughed bitterly.
“Well, she’s now Executive Director. The board invited her.”
Chinedu exhaled slowly.
“That complicates things.”
“Complicates?” Adebola repeated, frustration rising. “She wants my position, Chinedu. I can feel it.”
“Where are you?” he asked suddenly.
“At home.”
“I’m coming over.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said quickly.
“I’m already on my way,” he replied calmly.
The call ended.
Adebola groaned softly, dropping onto her couch. She didn’t know whether she was relieved… or terrified… that he was coming.
Thirty minutes later, he stood in her living room, sleeves rolled slightly, tie loosened just enough to make him look less intimidating… and somehow more dangerous.
“You look exhausted,” he said quietly.
“I feel worse,” she admitted.
He studied her carefully.
“Tell me everything.”
And she did.
About her father’s warning.
About Morenike.
About the board’s decision.
About her fear of losing everything.
By the time she finished, tears were silently sliding down her cheeks.
She didn’t even realize she was crying until Chinedu stepped closer, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.
“You’re stronger than you think,” he said gently.
“I’m tired of being strong,” she whispered.
The words hung between them.
Heavy.
Honest.
Dangerous.
Chinedu lifted his hand slowly… hesitating just inches from her face… before finally brushing away a tear with his thumb.
Adebola’s breath caught.
Neither of them moved.
The air thickened with something neither of them dared to name.
“You don’t have to face this alone,” he said quietly.
Her heart pounded violently.
She looked up at him, their faces suddenly too close.
For a moment… she thought he might kiss her.
And she wasn’t sure she would stop him.
But then—
Her phone rang loudly on the table.
Both of them froze.
She stepped back quickly, grabbing the phone like it was a lifeline.
Her expression changed instantly.
“What?” she said sharply.
Pause.
Another pause.
Her face went pale.
“I’ll be there immediately,” she whispered before hanging up.
Chinedu’s expression darkened.
“What happened?”
Adebola swallowed hard.
“My father’s condition just worsened,” she said, her voice trembling.
“And the doctors are asking for immediate family decisions regarding his treatment.”
- Writer
