The invitation came not on paper, not through messengers, but as a simple text message from an unknown number: "Tomorrow. 3 p.m. The old secretariat. Come alone. Come quietly. Come if you want to understand what you're really facing."
Elian showed it to Chiamaka, who immediately began tracing the source. Fifteen minutes later, Femi called back.
"That number is... complicated. It routes through seven proxies, ending at a government building in Abuja. Not just any government building—the Office of the National Security Adviser."
The room went silent.
"They're summoning you," Chiamaka said quietly. "Not inviting. Summoning. This isn't a negotiation."
"Then it's a warning."
"Then don't go."
Elian considered this. The smart play was to refuse, to send lawyers, to treat any meeting with s
