chapter 7
1854 Words
It was about to rain when she left the hotel.
She didn't remember getting dressed. She didn't remember walking down the stairs. She just remembered standing on the street, the proof in her bag.
Jake was beside her. He was quiet. He'd been quiet all morning.
"You don't have to come," she said.
"It was a choice"
"Then why are you here?"
"I made my choice ".
She didn't answer. She started walking.
---
Adebayo's office was in a small building on a narrow street.
The stairs were steep. The walls were cracked. The door was old. She could hear voices through the walls. She could hear someone typing. She could hear the hum of a fan.
She knocked.
He opened the door. He was older than she'd expected. His hair was grey. His face was lined. He was wearing a worn jacket. His hands were steady. His eyes were tired.
"Come in," he said.
The office was small. Messy. Papers everywhere. A desk in the corner. A chair. A filing cabinet. A lamp. A photograph on the wall. Two men. Brothers. Younger. Smiling.
She sat down. Jake stood by the door.
"You have the proof?" Adebayo asked.
She pulled out the documents. The photographs. The confession. She spread them across the desk.
He looked at them. He didn't touch them. He just looked. His hands were still.
"This is enough," he said. "This is enough to destroy them."
"Then we publish it."
He looked at her. His eyes were tired.
"I lost my brother to the Cross family," he said. "He was a journalist. He got too close. They killed him. They made it look like an accident."
Ife's hand went to her stomach. She pressed her palm against it. She could feel her own breathing. She could feel the air moving through her chest.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"So am I."
He looked at the confession. His voice was quiet.
"Once we do this, there's no going back."
"I know."
"Are you ready for that?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"Yes," she said.
---
She stepped outside. The air was thick. Her shirt was sticking to her skin. She stood there for a moment, her eyes closed.
She thought about Amara. The last time she'd seen her. She was laughing. She was saying, "I'll see you next month."
She didn't see her next month.
She opened her eyes. She walked back to the hotel.
---
A man was waiting at the entrance.
He was tall. He was wearing a dark suit. His face was calm. His hands were still. He was holding a small envelope.
"Ife," he said.
She stopped. Jake was beside her.
"Who are you?" she asked.
He didn't answer. He handed her the envelope. His voice was quiet.
"A gift. From Nathan Cross."
She stared at the envelope. She could feel it in her hands. The edges were sharp. She didn't want to open it.
"Open it," Jake said.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph. Her mother. Standing in the yard. She was looking at something. She didn't know she was being watched.
On the back, in neat handwriting:
"You're getting closer. Don't go any further."
The man was still standing there. He was looking at her. His face was calm.
"Let me tell you something," he said. "I've been working for the Cross family for twenty years. I've seen people try. I've seen people fight. Every single one of them ended up dead or disappeared. Not just Amara. A journalist named Adebayo's brother. A lawyer who tried to take them to court. A farmer who refused to sell his land. A woman who kept asking questions. They all tried. They all failed."
Jake stepped forward. His voice was shaking.
"Then it's time someone succeeded," Ife said.
"It's not going to be you."
"Then who?"
"Listen to me." The man held up a finger. "You think you can stop them? You think you can expose them? They've been doing this for generations. They own the police. They own the judges. They own the land. They own the politicians. You don't have the power to stop them."
"Ife—"
"Your cousin thought she did. She was smart. She was brave. She's dead. The lawyer who tried to take them to court—he's dead. The journalist who kept asking questions—he's dead. You don't get to be the one who survives."
He turned and walked away.
She stared at the envelope in her hands. She stared at the photograph. Her mother's face. She stood there, turning it over in her hands. She could feel the edges of the paper against her fingers. She could feel her own heartbeat.
"Jake," she said. "I need to call my mother."
---
"Let's go back."
He stopped. He turned to face her. His face was pale. His hands were shaking. She saw him swallow, his throat moving against a fear he'd been holding back for weeks.
"Let's go back to New York," he said again. "We can be done with this. We can live our normal life. We can leave all of this behind."
She stared at him. She didn't know what to say.
"Jake—"
"Please. I'm begging you. I've watched you carry this weight for weeks. I've watched you lose sleep. I've watched you cry. I've watched you put yourself in danger every single day. And for what? So you can be the next name on their list?"
She shook her head. She pressed the photograph against her chest.
"I can't leave. Not now."
"Ife—"
"I can't leave Amara here. I can't leave my father here. I can't leave my mother here. I can't leave the truth here."
"Ife—"
"If you want to go, go. I understand. I won't blame you. But I can't leave."
He stepped closer. He reached for her hand. He held it.
"If you're staying," he said. "Then I'm staying."
She looked at him. His face was tired. His hands were shaking. But he was still here.
"Jake," she said. "I don't know if I can protect you."
"Then stop trying to protect me. Let me stand with you."
She didn't answer. She didn't know what to say.
She looked at the photograph. Her mother. Standing in the yard. She didn't know she was being watched.
She looked at the note. "Don't go any further."
She looked at Jake.
He didn't let go of her hand.
---
She woke up with the photograph still in her hand.
Her fingers were stiff. The edges of the paper had left marks on her palm. She'd been holding it all night. She didn't remember falling asleep. She didn't remember closing her eyes. She just remembered the weight of it, pressing against her skin.
Her mother's face. Standing in the yard. Unaware.
She sat up. The room was grey. The light through the window was thin and tired. Jake was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. He was watching her. He'd been watching her all night.
"I need to see my mother," she said.
He didn't argue.
---
They walked through the empty streets.
The sun was just beginning to rise. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. She could hear a radio playing from a house they passed. Tinny music she didn't recognize. A woman was already sweeping her doorway, the broom making a soft, rhythmic sound against the concrete. She looked up as they passed. She didn't say anything.
The gate was rusted. She pushed it open.
Her mother was in the yard. She was hanging clothes on the line. Her hands moved slowly, like she was trying to hold onto something. A faded wrapper. A worn shirt. She didn't turn when Ife walked in.
Ife watched her for a moment. The way her shoulders curved. The way her hands gripped the fabric. The weight of her.
"Mama," Ife said.
Her mother stopped. She didn't turn around.
"I need to ask you something."
Her mother turned. Her face was tired. Her hands were still. She looked at Ife. She looked at Jake. She didn't say anything.
"Can we sit?" Ife asked.
Her mother walked to the porch. She sat on the steps. Ife sat beside her.
They sat there for a moment. Neither of them spoke.
"What do you know about the Cross family?" Ife asked.
Her mother was quiet for a long time. She looked at the ground.
"I know they killed your grandfather," she said. "I know they killed Amara."
"How long have you known?"
"Since before you were born."
Ife felt something shift in her chest. She pressed her hand against her stomach.
"Papa told me he was there," she said.
Her mother nodded slowly. Her hands were still.
"There's more," she said. "Something I've never told anyone."
She looked at Ife.
"The Cross family didn't just kill your grandfather because he refused to sell the land. They killed him because your father refused."
Ife stared at her.
"They offered your father a choice. Work for us. Help us. And we'll protect your family."
She paused. She looked away.
"He was twelve years old. He said no."
She stopped. She pressed her hand against her mouth.
"They killed your grandfather to punish him."
---
Ife sat there. The dust was thick beneath her feet. The sun was hot on her face. She couldn't feel any of it.
"He's never told anyone," her mother said. "He couldn't. He blamed himself."
"He was twelve years old," Ife said.
"I know."
"He didn't do anything wrong."
"I know."
"Then why does he blame himself?"
Her mother was quiet for a long time. She looked at the yard. She looked at the fence.
"Because he watched his father die," she said. "And he couldn't stop it."
Ife pressed her hand against her mouth.
"He's been carrying this his whole life," her mother said. "He thought if he kept you away from it, you'd be safe."
"He was wrong."
Her mother looked at her. Her eyes were wet.
"I know."
---
She walked to the yard.
Her father was sitting near a mango tree. His back was turned. She could see the dust on his shoulders. She could see the way his head was bowed.
She stood beside him.
"Papa," she said.
He didn't turn.
"I know the truth. Mama told me."
He was quiet for a long time.Slow. Heavy. She could hear the weight of it.
"I was twelve years old," he said.
He turned to look at her. His eyes were wet.
"They offered me a choice. I said no."
She heard his voice c***k. She heard the sorrow of his voice.
"They killed him to punish me."
She walked to him. She put her arms around him.
"Papa," she said. "It wasn't your fault."
He didn't answer. He just stood there.
---
She let go first. She stepped back.
He was still looking at the ground.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from this."
She didn't answer. She didn't know what to say.
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