The invitation arrived in a thick cream envelope, hand-delivered by a courier in a suit that cost more than most Lagos apartments. It was embossed with gold lettering and sealed with wax—the kind of old-money presentation designed to intimidate before the envelope was even opened.
"The Lagos Business Coalition requests the honour of your presence at the Annual Strategic Partnership Gala. Black tie. Seven o'clock. The Eko Atlantic Ballroom."
Elian read it twice, then handed it to Chiamaka.
"What do they want?"
"The same thing they always want." She examined the invitation, turning it over in her hands. "To size you up. To remind you where you stand. To make you feel small in a room full of people who've been playing this game since before you were born."
"Should I go?"
She considered
