The First Lady's Kitchen

Chapter Five

Two days later, we drove to Surulere, following a trail through contacts, bars, and cheap motels. No one knew a journalist named Bassey Effiong. But everyone knew a man who was “asking questions about the politics in Akuneze State.

By midnight, we found his hideout, a small room above a printing press, reeking of ink and kerosene. The place was empty, the bed unmade, laptop cords cut clean. He was gone. T-Boy cursed under his breath. “Somebody tipped him off.”

I looked around the room, walls lined with notes, newspaper clippings, voice recorders. On the table lay a single envelope. My name was written on it. My chest tightened as I opened it. Inside was a printed note, plain and cold:

“You don’t hunt ghosts, Otu. You work for one.”

I sat down slowly as I pondered over those words. It burned through my skull like fire. I could almost hear Glory’s voice in the back of my mind; soft, sweet, patient. "You serve me because you understand power, not because you question it."

Was this her test? Or a warning? I pocketed the note and said nothing to Gideon or T-Boy. Some truths kill faster than bullets.

“Pack everything,” I said. “We leave Lagos before dawn.”

As we stepped outside, police sirens wailed in the distance. A convoy was moving fast, blue lights, loud horns. I froze, recognizing the vehicles. State House SUVs. Two of them.

“What the hell…” T-Boy muttered. “Did Glory send backup?”

“Or a cleanup crew,” I said quietly as we entered our SUV, then drove in the opposite direction.

***

Governor Daniel:

The morning sunlight hurt my eyes. The press conference that took place three days ago had drained me; but the real blows were coming from Abuja. Overnight, the National Assembly had called for a “joint security inquiry” into the spate of political disappearances Akuneze. In plain words, they were sending a team to dig into my government. I sat alone in my office, TV muted, headlines crawling across the bottom of the screen:

“Governor Daniel Benjamin, Under Fire as Aide, Journalist and four Critics Vanish.”

“Opposition Calls for State of Emergency.”

“Akuneze State House, Silent on Allegations.”

The walls of Government House felt smaller than ever. I reached for my phone, called Glory. Straight to voicemail. I tried again but the line didn't connect. The last time we spoke, her tone had been flat. “Focus on your image,” she’d said. “I’ll handle the mess.”

But the mess had grown into something bigger than either of us. I looked out the window. Beyond the gates, protesters had begun gathering in their hundreds. Students, traders, ordinary people. Their voices rose like smoke.

“Resign!”

“Justice for Ekaette!”

“Bring back the missing!”

"Stop the embezzlement of Public funds and the grandiose lifestyles!"

Every shout cracked something inside me. A knock at the door. My chief of staff entered, pale. “Sir, there’s… something you need to see.”

He turned on the TV. A new headline appeared:

“Anonymous Journalist Claims to Have Proof of State-Ordered Executions and embezzlement of Public funds. To be Released Tomorrow at midnight.”

My blood went cold. Proof. I sank into the chair. “Where’s this journalist?”

“No one knows, sir.”

I closed my eyes. Somewhere, far away, the truth was walking toward us with quiet, unstoppable steps.

***

OTU

We didn’t sleep. By 3 a.m., we were back on the road, Lagos fading behind us like a bad dream. The SUVs from Alaousa had followed us for a few minutes before vanishing into the night. I didn’t know if that meant safety or surveillance. In my hand, the note from the room crumpled slowly. You work for one.

I thought of Glory, how she never flinched, never blinked, even when men begged. How she made cruelty look like duty. Her husband on the other hand was drowning in guilt he couldn’t confess. They were both trapped in the same kitchen. I was just the knife.

By the time dawn broke over Sagamu, my phone buzzed. A private line. I answered. “Yes, ma.”

Glory’s voice came through, calm and sweet. “Otu,” she said, “I trust Lagos went well?”

I hesitated. “We found his place. He’s gone. But someone warned him.” A pause. Then a smile in her tone. “Don’t worry about that. Everything is unfolding exactly as planned.”

Something in her words chilled me more than failure ever could.

“Ma… did you know he was in contact with you?”

She laughed softly. “Of course, Otu. How else do you control a story?”

The line went dead. I was more perplexed than ever. What was really going on in Governor Daniel's administration? Was his wife indirectly fighting him and sabotaging the government under his nose?

For a long time, T-Boy just drove, the road blurring behind us. Gideon looked at me from the passenger seat. “Boss? What did she say?”

I stared ahead, voice low.

“She said the story isn’t over.”