CHAPTER THREE
1089 Words
SWIFT OF COLORS
The people of Thames were noted for their high level of sales in tobacco,spices and cottons and coming out well Huge warehouses lined the street to store colonial goods before distribution inland.
Like All Mondays it’s appears the busiest of this time, every one strapped their horses, As they sold the product, They were great beneficiary of the product, Mouth stuck of tobacco or body reeked of rum. Some Women were out creating scene for unfinished family’s business,All others covered their dignity inside.
The government chamber stood high and elegant, wrapped in an almost sacred silence that carried the weight of power itself.
Sunlight pierced through the long draped windows, casting golden streaks across the massive oval mahogany table positioned at the center of the room. Along the polished walls hung portraits of past leaders, their stern painted gazes fixed eternally upon the present.
Beside them stood the national flag and the emblem of state authority, symbols of control and legacy.
The atmosphere was tense, dignified, and heavy with anticipation.
At the head of the table sat the Prime Minister, composed and unreadable as he reviewed several documents before him. To his left and right sat the key ministers—Defense, Finance, and Foreign Affairs—each with neatly arranged files, tablets, and notes prepared for the session.
Microphones lined the polished surface, every seat marked with brass nameplates and ministry insignias.
At the edge of the chamber, aides and security personnel stood silently, communicating through discreet earpieces while a large wall clock ticked loudly, stretching the silence thinner with every passing second.
The Prime Minister finally looked up.
“Hello, everyone. It is good to have you all here.”
His voice carried authority effortlessly.
“We will not go back and forth on the issues at hand. Those who managed not to get caught up in the chaos across their various states deserve commendation. The others who returned with their toes between their mouths…” he paused, his eyes sweeping the room.
“Kudos to your survival.”
A faint ripple of nervous laughter followed.
“George Wellington,” he said firmly. “Please take the floor.”
George rose.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
He adjusted his coat and cleared his throat.
“As he said, this matter is not one to laugh about. I quite literally had my life hanging by a thread. And to think it was a fish farmer who saved me.”
Low mutterings spread across the chamber.
The Prime Minister struck the gavel sharply.
Silence returned.
“Please continue.”
George nodded.
“The wars have begun spreading through the African colonies. Some regions now possess enough political strength to begin creating independent laws.”
His tone hardened.
“We must remain on guard. These African warlords are not relenting. Somalia and Ghana have already broken out.”
The Prime Minister frowned.
“Not ideal contenders.”
The Minister of Foreign Affairs leaned forward.
“We are already losing foreign exchange benefits. Currency values are falling because of the unrest. Several countries are refusing trade altogether and surviving only on what remains within their borders.”
The Prime Minister’s expression darkened as he turned to George.
“You are solely in charge of that operation. Do not stand before this chamber and tell us there has been a misappropriation of funds without results.”
George straightened immediately.
“Yes, sir.”
The Deputy Prime Minister adjusted his glasses.
“If I may, sir…”
The Prime Minister gestured.
“Proceed.”
“I suggest we scout countries we can buy to our side. Haiti. Togo. Congo. Bendel.”
He folded his hands calmly.
“With the severity of the situation, these nations are vulnerable and desperate enough to seek shelter where it is offered.”
The Attorney General smiled.
“I agree entirely. I can draft agreements ensuring they are never permitted to return to their countries once accepted. Refusal would carry… severe consequences.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
Then he smiled wider.
“Of course, such clauses would remain between us alone.”
A collective sigh of relief followed.
The Prime Minister looked back at George.
“Gain more ground in Nigeria. Offer more cowries, damn it. That is precisely what you are paid for—not wandering about uselessly.”
George bowed his head.
“Yes, sir.”
The Prime Minister’s eyes sharpened.
“I should not need to remind you what can still be accomplished there.”
George returned home later that evening.
As he entered, he was met by Iheanacho’s cold stare.
Without hesitation, he shoved her aside, causing her to stumble and bruise her knee.
Flora entered quickly and removed his cloak.
“I will be going to Nigeria tomorrow,” George announced.
Flora froze.
“What for?”
George gave her a sharp look.
“What does it look like? Business.”
“The Brooklyns are arriving tomorrow.”
“Well, you are not stupid enough to mishandle things, are you?”
Flora’s jaw tightened.
“At least that is what you pay me for.”
George smirked.
“Then be smart enough to pack my things.”
She folded her arms.
“Should I at least know when you will return?”
George turned slowly.
“I owe you no allegiance. I pay the bills here, and I do it exceptionally well.”
Flora’s voice dropped.
“I may not care for you, George, but you are still useful alive. Too much of what I once had was handed over to you.”
George scoffed.
“Pack my bags.”
“No,” she snapped. “No.”
Her voice trembled with anger.
“Do not do this. Africa is burning. The war is escalating. Why are you pushing this so hard?”
“f**k off.”
Flora laughed bitterly.
“Fine. I would rather return to being a gutted fish farmer than live like this.”
George smiled coldly.
“Please. Use your feet when you go, darling.”
She began stuffing clothes into a bag.
“Oh no,” George interrupted. “Not those.”
He folded his arms.
“I kept those separately. Use what belongs to you.”
Flora froze.
“You kept them?”
“I put my money where my worth is.”
Slowly, she unpacked the expensive gowns.
George smirked.
“You love privilege far too much. Especially with the Duchess arriving tomorrow.”
Flora sank heavily onto the
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