The night was humid, heavy with the kind of heat that made Lagos feel like a breathing creature. Elian had worked late, as he always did now, reviewing the growing network of informal partnerships that had become his company's lifeline. The office was quiet, most staff long gone, only the security guard downstairs and the distant hum of generators keeping him company.
It was 11:47 p.m. when he finally locked his office and headed for the stairs.
He'd taken to using the stairs instead of the elevator. After the hackers' attack, after the blacklist, after becoming the face of something larger than himself, paranoia had become practical. Elevators were traps. Stairs offered options.
The building was seven floors. His office on the fifth. He moved quickly but quietly, his footsteps echoing
