MARRIED TO MY ENEMY

BRICK WALL

We didn’t sleep that night. After the press conference, we went home to two different houses and pretended we were fine. I smiled at dinner, Daniel shook hands at the board meeting. And the whole time, my phone sat face down on the table with Brad’s last text glowing behind it: You should’ve listened. Now you’ve made it personal — B. By 6am we were in Daniel’s car. He parked two streets away from both houses. “We have 48 hours before the board meets again,” Daniel said, eyes on the road. “After that, Brad pushes the merger through. And it’s over.”

“Then we find proof in 48 hours,” I said. He glanced at me. “You sound sure.”

“I’m not,” I admitted. “I’m terrified. But I’d rather be terrified and moving than terrified and waiting.” He nodded. And drove.

...

*Stop 1: The Old Bank — Marina*

The building where Nicholas & Andrew Imports had their first account was still there. Glass front, dusty logo. The manager was an old man who remembered my father. “Miss Nicholas,” he said, surprised. “What can I do for you?”

“We need records,” Daniel said, "From 2003. Account statements for Nicholas & Andrew Imports.” The man frowned. “Those records... we digitized them years ago. And the physical copies were destroyed in the 2012 fire.”

“My father’s company,” I pressed. “There has to be something.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely sorry. “Even if we had them, I’d need a court order to release them. And Mr. Brad is on our board now. He’d know by the end of the day.” We left with nothing.

...

*Stop 2: The CAC Office — Alausa.*

If Brad was listed as a partner, he would be there. The clerk took our request and came back 20 minutes later with a thin file. "Nicholas & Andrew Imports. Dissolved in 2004.” Two names, Nicholas and Andrew, no Brad. “Are you sure?” Daniel asked. “No third partner?” The clerk shrugged. “This is what’s on file. If he was silent, he wouldn’t be here.” Brad was careful. Of course, he was.

...

*Stop 3: Nia’s Old Apartment — Surulere*

Nia said she kept copies. In a box. Under her bed. The apartment was empty. The homeowner said she moved out last week. “Paid 6 months in advance and disappeared, didn’t say where.” I sat on the bare floor and called her number. Disconnected. “She’s gone,” I whispered. “He got to her first.” Daniel didn’t say anything, He just pulled me up.

...

*Stop 4: The Warehouse Again — 4th Street*

Maybe there was something we missed. The door was chained. New padlock. Through the window, the tables and chairs were gone. On the wall, someone had sprayed paint in red: DON’T LOOK. Immediately I knew Brad was following us and he wrote it. He had also cleared all the evidence.

...

By 7p.m. we were back in the car. Neither of us had eaten. “We checked everything,” I said. My voice was hoarse. “Banks, Records, People. It’s all gone.”

“Not everything,” Daniel said. But he didn’t sound convinced. “My father won’t talk to me. Your father won’t look at you. Nia’s gone. The warehouse is empty.” I laughed, but it came out wrong. “He was right. We don’t have evidence,” Daniel slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Once. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Then what? Where else do we look?” He was quiet for a long time. Watching the cars. “Ghana,” he said finally. I turned to him. “What?”

“The transfers,” he said. “Nia said Ghana. One of the accounts. If the money went there in 2003, there might still be a record. Offshore banks keep records longer. Especially if the account was never closed.”

“And how do we access it?”

“We don’t. Not legally. But Brad’s arrogance. He probably kept something. A signature, a document or a safe deposit box.” Daniel looked at me. “If there’s proof anywhere, it’s there. Because he wouldn’t expect us to leave the country.”

“Ghana,” I repeated. “That’s... that’s leaving all the current dilemma.”

“I know.”

“If we go and come back empty-handed, we lose. If we go, and he finds out, he’ll....."

“He has already threatened us,” Daniel cut in. “What else can he do?” I thought about it. The cameras, the rules, the last 20 years.

And the way Brad smiled at the press conference felt like he’d already won. “Okay,” I said. “Ghana.” Daniel exhaled. Like he’d been holding his breath. “We're leaving tonight,” he said. “Red eye to Accra. No phones, cash only, and we tell no one.”

“What about our fathers?”

“They’ll think we’re at the office. We’ll be back before anyone notices,” I nodded. It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was probably exactly what Brad wanted us to do. But staying here meant doing nothing. And I couldn’t do anything anymore. We drove home to pack. No laptops, No IDs with our real names if we could help it.

At 10p.m. Daniel texted me: Airport. Gate 4. Black hoodie. I wore mine. He was already there when I arrived, leaning against a pillar, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. Because he probably hadn’t. “Are you ready?” he asked when he saw me. “No,” I said. “But I’m sure about not staying.” He gave me a small, tired smile. “That’s enough.”

We checked in under fake names, paid in cash. As we walked to security, my phone buzzed one last time before I turned it off. Unknown number: Going somewhere? Be careful. The ocean is rough at this time of year.--B. He knew. Of course, he knew. I showed Daniel. He read it and his jaw tightened. “Let him watch,” Daniel said. “Let him think we’re running.”

I pocketed the phone and turned it off. The boarding call came. We walked onto the plane together. Two people with no evidence. No backup. No plan except a name and a country.

As the plane took off over Lagos, I looked out the window. Lights, buildings, the city that had raised us on a lie. “We’re not coming back without something,” I said quietly. Daniel took my hand. “Then we don’t come back.” The seatbelt sign went off. And we flew into the dark, to Ghana to find the proof, or to lose everything trying.

The plane landed at 3:20am. Accra was humid and quiet, different from our city, but not enough to feel safe. We took a taxi with cash, no names, no card. "Where to?" Daniel asked me in the back seat. "Anywhere Brad wouldn't look first," I said. "Start with the bank Nia mentioned, Ghana Commerce."

al, Standard Trust. We checked into a small guesthouse in Osu under different names, no wedding ring, no story, and for 3 days we didn't sleep. We started looking for evidence.

Day 1: Ghana Commercial Bank - Ring road

We took a taxi to the bank and paid with cash. When we got down from the taxi, Daniel held my hand, and we walked inside together hoping we'd find evidence. "We're looking for records from 2003, an offshore account under Bradley Martyn," Daniel told the manager. The woman shook her head: "Sir, accounts that are old are achieved, and without a Ghanaian Court order, we can't access them. And without the account holder present, we cannot give out records."

Brad really wasn't going to work with us. He was very careful but deep inside me, I still knew there was evidence somewhere, so we left for another place to continue looking for evidence.

Day 2: Standard Trust - Airport City

The manager also gave us the same answer. He was wearing a black suit with a grey collar, he greeted us, and we asked about the records, and he said, "Those records were moved to a private vault in 2018, only the signatory can request them."

"We have reason to believe there was a fraud," I tried convincing him. "I'm sorry, my hands are tied." He cut in before I could even finish convincing him.

Daniel looked at me and gestured at me to stop talking. We waited for five more minutes, trying to convince the manager, but he said there was nothing he could do about it, that they needed the record owner's consent before releasing records. Then we left for another place hoping to find evidence.

Day 3: The Registrar General

We looked for any company registered in Ghana. There was nothing, no B. Martyn Holdings, no property, no trace.

" He covered his tracks. He's been 20 years ahead of us," Daniel said that night in our room. He was sitting on the floor, his back was against the bed. I was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan. "We came all this way for nothing," I whispered. "We're going to go home, and he'll still be there, smiling." Daniel turned and looked at me but he didn't answer.

At 2am my phone buzzed, the burner phone we bought at the airport. Unknown number. Having fun in Accra? The jollof here is better, so come home, people are starting to talk. — B

I showed Daniel. "He knows," I said. He's known the whole time."

"He wants us to run out of options, then come back desperate," Daniel said. We tried one more place in the morning, a private investigator Nia had mentioned once in passing. But his office was closed, there was a note on the floor: Gone to London, indefinitely. That was it. No other options.