The morning started like any other. Elian arrived at the office at 6:30, made tea in the small kitchenette, and settled into the rhythm of emails and reports that had become his life. Three weeks had passed since the Accra summit. Three weeks of building, of strengthening, of watching the informal network expand into something that now touched every corner of Lagos.
Three weeks of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It dropped at 9:17 a.m., when Chiamaka walked into his office with an expression he'd learned to recognize. The expression that meant: Something has happened, and you're not going to like it.
"Have you seen the business news today?"
Elian shook his head. He'd stopped reading business news months ago. Too much propaganda, too many narratives crafted by people who wanted him
