Eros Pov
The Tunnel Lounge sits tucked into a discreet corner of Airport Residential, the kind of restaurant where American tourists and Ghana's elites conduct business that requires privacy. I arrive fifteen minutes early, claiming the corner table that offers clear sightlines to the entrance and exit. A waiter recognizes me, nods with professional discretion,n and ensures my usual preference - champagne.
This isn't dinner. It's surgery.
Tonight, I excise the last ghost from my carefully constructed life. Sandra Frimpong has been circling my empire like a vulture for five years, waiting for the right moment to swoop back in and claim whatever she thinks I owe her. But debts require legitimate claims, and she forfeited hers the moment she walked away when I was nothing.
I cleared my en
