The meeting happened in a private dining room at the most expensive hotel in Lagos, behind doors guarded by men who didn't ask questions and didn't remember faces. Five men sat around a table laden with food none of them touched. The only thing on the menu tonight was revenge.
Emeka Okonkwo paced by the window, his reflection ghosting against the glass. "He humiliated us. In front of everyone. In front of people who matter."
Segun Adeleke nursed a glass of whiskey, his jaw tight. "The roundtable was bad enough. But then that journalist—Ifeanyi—he's still digging. He's connected three of our companies to the smear campaign. If he finds the rest—"
"He won't." Tunde Balogun's voice was flat, certain. "We'll bury him like we've buried everyone else."
"Burying journalists isn't what it used
