CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE VISIT
1217 Words
The morning was heavy with a kind of silence that pressed against Wyonne’s chest like a wet cloth. The wide windows of her room overlooked a city that, for once, had a pale grey, refusing to reveal whether it was mourning or just indecisive. Her driver had been waiting downstairs for over an hour, engine humming, but she hadn’t even packed her bag yet. Not that there was much to pack — just her phone, some money, and a new kind of courage she had not used before.
Jerry’s words echoed louder than the room around her.
> “If Minos dies, it’s not just him. Ron too. You know it, Wyonne. And you know who can stop it.”
She had scoffed at him when he said it. But her lips had trembled in the middle of that scoff, and Jerry, ever cunning, had noticed. He had taken a step closer, voice dropping lower, more desperate, more manipulative. And like water dripping on a rock, he had worn her resolve down.
Wyonne blinked at the mirror. Her reflection didn’t look like someone about to confront a man of power. It looked like a child preparing to confess something they couldn’t yet name.
She pulled her scarf over her hair and headed down.
The driver opened the door without asking where she was going. That was the privilege of being a magistrate’s daughter — or the curse. You could leave a house full of people, and no one would stop you. You were free in the most terrifying way.
They drove in silence. The vehicle crawled through the winding roads of Warda City, honking softly at the odd beggar or kiosk owner trying to cross recklessly. Her father’s office wasn’t in the judicial complex today — not officially. He had moved his paperwork to a quieter building uptown, claiming he needed to "think better away from noise." But Wyonne knew it was because of the increasing tension surrounding the outbreaks.
Even a man like him — cold, proud, feared — was beginning to doubt his own safety.
When she arrived at the gate, the guards looked at her like they had seen a ghost. One of them even dropped the half-eaten bean cake he was holding.
“Madam Wyonne? You dey here?” he said, adjusting his cap in a panic.
“I want to see him,” she replied softly.
They didn’t even ask which “him.” They scrambled with their radios and opened the gates wide, like she was a storm about to pass through.
Inside, the security chief himself met her at the entrance and tried to hide his surprise behind a professional smile. “You’re not expected today, miss.”
“I know,” she replied. “That’s why I’m here.”
He led her to the top floor, where her father’s personal office overlooked the city. She could already see the tall man through the glass panel, pacing like a lion caught between two thoughts.
When the door creaked open, he turned sharply.
“Wyonne?” he said, disbelief cracking his voice like old wood.
She hadn’t called him Daddy in over five years.
“I came to speak with you,” she said. Her words were deliberate, but soft. It wasn’t fear holding her back. It was something else — respect, perhaps, or the remnants of childhood awe.
Magistrate Gbemiga was not used to unexpected visits, especially not from the daughter he had given up understanding long ago. He gestured stiffly to the chair across from his massive desk.
“Sit.”
She did, folding her hands over her thighs. There was a pause, then he sat down too — but not before adjusting the sleeves of his white robe, and removing his glasses like he was about to interrogate a witness.
“This is not about money, is it?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I just… I want to talk.”
He blinked.
That was new. That was terrifying.
Wyonne’s eyes drifted to a photo frame on his table — an old family picture. One where her mother still smiled without caution. Where her younger self stood beside her father, face beaming. That girl was gone. But so, in many ways, was the man beside her now. There was only the robe, the rulings, the cold voice in TV interviews declaring judgments and mandates.
“There’s a boy,” she began, then quickly corrected herself, “There are two boys. And a mother. And a creature. I think it’s time you helped.”
He narrowed his eyes, leaning back slowly in his chair. “Speak clearly, Wyonne.”
She took a breath and gave him the edited version — not lies, but pieces too delicate to be handed over raw. She told him about Ron, vaguely. She told him about an unjust situation, a broken process. She mentioned the name “Minos” once, and his brows rose like a storm cloud forming in the distance.
“Minos?” he repeated. “Is that not the… the anomaly they detained in the east district?”
Wyonne nodded.
“And what connection do you have with that case?”
“I… I know someone involved. Someone innocent. Who will be destroyed if we don’t step in.”
He stood abruptly, walking to the window like it would help clear his thoughts. “Wyonne, you’re not a lawyer. You’re not even interested in politics. Why now?”
She stood too.
“Because if we don’t help, I may never forgive myself. And I think… I think you might regret it too.”
Her voice cracked at the last word. She hated that it did. Her father turned sharply to her, eyes narrowing.
“This is about that boy,” he said. “The poor one. The one who insulted our name.”
She didn’t respond.
“You know he has no background. You know he has no business near you.”
“I know he’s not the monster you think he is.”
“And this Minos? This thing you’re talking about — is that your friend too?”
“No. But… he matters. Somehow.”
Her father was silent for a while. Then he exhaled sharply and returned to his desk.
“I won’t promise anything.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” she replied, her voice steadier now. “I just need you to look.”
Magistrate Gbemiga looked at her for a long moment. And for once, he saw not the stubborn girl who had run off to study fashion design in another country. He saw not the rebellious spirit who refused arranged dates with ambassadors' sons. He saw someone else entirely — a woman who had grown her own roots, however strange, however wild.
“I’ll ask my aides to send me the files. That’s all I’m saying for now.”
“That’s all I need.”
She turned to leave. But just before the door closed behind her, he said something she hadn’t expected:
“You’ve grown. You speak like your mother.”
Wyonne didn’t turn. She only nodded, one hand pressed to her chest as if to contain the ache.
Outside, the clouds had finally started to drizzle.
- Writer
