The Boardroom
690 Words
Chapter 6: The Boardroom
Okon Towers at 8 AM smelled like coffee and power.
Ola kept her head down as Nneka flashed her press pass and walked them past security. “Lagos Pulse. Interview with Mr. Okon. He’s expecting us,” Nneka said with a smile that could sell ice to Eskimos.
They weren’t on the list. Nneka didn’t care.
“Are you sure about this?” Ola whispered, clutching Tunde’s old contract folder under her arm.
“No,” Nneka said cheerfully. “But if we don’t do it now, Kemi buries it by noon.”
The boardroom was on the 38th floor. Glass walls, a long mahogany table, and seven people who’d never worried about rent in their lives. Mr. Okon sat at the head. Kemi was to his right, arms crossed. Chinedu was on the left, tie loosened, jaw tight.
“Miss Nneka,” Mr. Okon said as they entered. His voice was smooth, but his eyes were cold. “We don’t have an appointment.”
“Funny,” Nneka said, setting up her recorder on the table. “Because your PR team told me you wanted more media coverage for the Youth Empowerment launch. I brought my photographer.”
Ola stepped forward before anyone could stop her.
She placed Tunde’s folder on the table and opened it. Photos of delivered furniture. Signed delivery receipts. A stamped email from Okon Construction saying ‘Project approved for payment’.
“This is from two years ago,” Ola said. Her voice didn’t shake, and she was proud of that. “Okon Construction subcontracted Tunde Adewale for the Ikoyi project. He delivered. You didn’t pay.”
Kemi laughed, sharp and brittle. “You’re accusing us with a folder? Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“I know who I’m talking to,” Ola said, looking straight at her. “I also know who you’re lying about.”
“Enough,” Mr. Okon said.
But Chinedu spoke first.
“Where’s the inspection report, Kemi?” he asked. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the room.
Kemi froze. “What?”
“The report that says Tunde failed to deliver,” Chinedu said. “It’s not in the file. I checked last night. There’s no proof. Just your notes.”
Kemi’s face flushed. “I handled that project. I don’t need to justify myself to you.”
“You do when you’re using the company to settle personal grudges,” Chinedu said.
The room went dead silent.
Mr. Okon leaned forward. “Chinedu. Sit down.”
“No,” Chinedu said. He looked at Ola, then back at his father. “If we’re going to run a foundation about giving young people a chance, we start by giving them a fair one. Tunde gets paid. Full amount, plus interest. And Ola keeps her contract.”
Kemi shot to her feet. “You can’t be serious—”
“I’m the heir,” Chinedu said. “For now, I can.”
Ola’s chest tightened. She hadn’t expected him to do it. Not like this, in front of everyone.
Mr. Okon stared at his son for a long moment. Then he leaned back in his chair and smiled. Not kindly.
“Very well,” he said. “We’ll revisit the matter. Meeting adjourned.”
Chairs scraped. Board members filed out, avoiding eye contact with Ola. Kemi brushed past her, muttering, “You haven’t won.”
Only Chinedu stayed.
He walked around the table to Ola and picked up the folder. “I’ll make sure it goes through,” he said quietly. “Tunde gets his money.”
Ola nodded, throat dry. “Why?”
“Because you were right,” Chinedu said. “And because I’m tired of being the guy who looks away.”
Nneka cleared her throat. “So… is this on the record?”
Chinedu glanced at her, then at Ola. “Not yet.”
Ola let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
For the first time since she walked into that gala, she wasn’t sure if Chinedu Okon was the enemy anymore.
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- Writer
