The Eko Convention Centre towered against Lagos's skyline like a monument to aspiration. Its glass facade reflected the morning sun in blinding sheets, and its air-conditioned halls hosted the kind of gatherings that shaped nations—or at least, shaped the narratives that justified how nations were run.
Today's event was the West African Economic Summit, an annual gathering of ministers, multinational CEOs, and the kind of consultants who charged five figures for PowerPoint presentations that said nothing with remarkable eloquence. Elian had received his invitation three weeks ago, hand-delivered by a courier in a branded car. He'd wondered then about the timing—too convenient, too perfectly aligned with his rising profile.
Now, walking through the marble lobby in his best Nigerian-made a
