Eight Years Too Late

At twenty-seven, Lucia had a five-year plan, a ten-year plan, and absolutely no plans to get married. Marriage, to her, was one of those things people made unnecessarily complicated. Her colleagues discussed proposals over lunch. Her friends complained about boyfriends who forgot anniversaries, and her mother had recently begun sending her photographs of eligible men with captions like Just take a look, my daughter. Lucia looked. She simply never saw anything worth pursuing. She had other things to worry about. At INK Investments, Lucia was one of three junior finance strategists, and she had no intention of remaining junior for long. She arrived before most of her colleagues, left when her work was done, and spent her lunch breaks reading financial reports instead of joining conversations about weddings and celebrity relationships. She was ambitious, occasionally to the point of recklessness, and she had the nerve of a honey badger. While her colleagues waited for their managers to notice them, Lucia walked into the head of finance’s office with proposals. When they were rejected, she returned with better ones. When someone questioned her calculations, she checked them, corrected them, and came back with evidence. She didn’t particularly care whether people liked her. Unfortunately, people did care whether she liked them, and many of them weren’t pleased with her success. She noticed the conversations that quietened when she entered the break room. She noticed the compliments that sounded suspiciously like insults. You really know how to get management’s attention. Must be nice to have the CEO on your side. Lucia smiled when politeness required it and kept walking. If people wanted to spend their time resenting her, that was their business. She had a career to build. One Thursday morning, the CFO summoned the three junior strategists to the boardroom. Each was expected to present one proposal for growing the company. Ella went first. She suggested consolidating vendors across departments, a practical measure that could reduce annual operating costs by eight percent. The executives listened, nodded, and wrote a few notes. Tola followed with a proposal to open two new branches, one in Abuja and another in Port Harcourt. The projected revenue was impressive, but so were the setup costs. By the time she finished, the CFO was already asking about the risks. Then it was Lucia’s turn. She connected her laptop to the screen and stood. “INK Investments has built a strong reputation among established investors,” she began. “But we’re overlooking a growing market: young salaried professionals.” She clicked to the next slide. “These are people earning steady incomes who want to invest but don’t always know where to start. Some consider investing too expensive. Others find the process intimidating. I propose a payroll-linked investment plan that allows eligible employees to contribute a minimum of ten thousand naira monthly, subject to their employers’ participation and the necessary regulatory approvals.” She explained the proposed onboarding process, automatic contributions, projected customer acquisition costs, and the possibility of starting with a small pilot. “If we execute this properly, we won’t just acquire customers. We’ll build relationships with people whose investment capacity can grow alongside their careers.” An executive tapped his pen against the table. “What happens if the regulatory approval doesn’t come through?” “Then we don’t launch until we’ve addressed the requirements. I’ve outlined the compliance considerations on page four.” “And if people don’t sign up?” “We review the pilot, identify the problem, and adjust the strategy before expanding.” The CFO regarded her for a moment. “Interesting proposal, Lucia. Thank you.” It was a polite thank-you, the sort that usually meant the discussion was over. She returned to her seat. The meeting ended shortly afterward. Nobody announced a winner, and the executives dispersed to their offices. Lucia packed her laptop, but her mind remained in the boardroom. Her proposal had been better than that. She knew it. And she wasn’t prepared to let it disappear into a folder nobody would open again. Outside the boardroom, she caught up with the head of finance, Mr. Bello. “Sir, do you think we could discuss the possibility of running a small pilot?” He glanced at her. “The CFO makes the final decision.” “Of course, sir. I just thought—” “Lucia.” She stopped. “Submit your proposal through the appropriate channel. You’ve done your part.” She thanked him and walked away. For the next ten minutes, she sat at her desk staring at her computer screen. She could submit the proposal and wait. She could also walk to the CFO’s office and ask for five minutes of his time. The second option was risky. He might consider her disrespectful. He might think she couldn’t accept a decision she didn’t like. Or he might listen. Lucia closed her spreadsheet, stood, and straightened her blazer. She had not come this far by waiting for people to discover what she could do. The CFO’s secretary asked her to take a seat. Lucia waited outside the office, rehearsing her opening sentence until the words began to sound ridiculous even in her own head. When the secretary finally invited her in, she took a breath. “Good morning, sir.” The CFO looked up from his desk. “You’re one of the junior strategists, aren’t you?” “Yes, sir. Lucia.” “Lucia.” He gestured towards the chair opposite him. “What can I do for you?” She explained that she wanted the company to consider a small pilot of her payroll-linked investment plan. He listened without interrupting. When she finished, he leaned back and studied her. “So it’s true.” She frowned. “What’s true, sir?” “I’ve been hearing about you. You’re the woman everyone in this branch seems to have an opinion about.” Lucia wasn’t sure whether to smile. “They say you’re confident,” he continued. “And that you don’t give up easily.” “I try to be thorough, sir.” He laughed. “Is that what we’re calling it?” She smiled despite herself. He tapped his pen against the desk. “Tell me something, Lucia. Suppose we approve this project and it fails. What happens then?” She hadn’t prepared for that question. She thought about the hours she’d spent researching the market, the assumptions she’d tested, and the work she’d put into the proposal. Then she said the first thing that came to mind. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right, sir. If I have to work without a salary until I’ve made up for the loss, I will.” The pen stopped moving. For a moment, the CFO said nothing. Then he placed it on the desk. “That’s a rather dramatic promise.” Lucia felt the heat creep into her cheeks. She had spoken too quickly, and she knew it. “I understand that the project carries risks, sir. I just believe it deserves a chance.” The CFO studied her for another moment. “I’ll think about it. You may go.” She thanked him and left. Halfway down the corridor, the full weight of her promise caught up with her. Without a salary? She nearly laughed at herself. What on earth had she just said? She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to concentrate on her work. By the time she left the office, she had convinced herself that she had probably ruined her chances. She stopped at a small shop on her way home to buy toiletries. She was reaching for a bottle of body wash when a voice behind her said, “Hi, beautiful.” Lucia turned. A tall man with dreadlocks stood a few feet away, a camera bag hanging from his shoulder. He was smiling as though they were old friends. “Can I help you?” she asked. “I saw you getting out of a keke. I just had to come and say hello.” “How nice.” He laughed, apparently mistaking her tone for encouragement. “Can I have your number?” “No.” The answer came so quickly that his smile faltered. “Come on. Just give us a chance.” Lucia looked at him, then at the bottle in her hand. She had been on her feet since morning. Her proposal might be rejected, she had made an absurd promise to the CFO, and now a stranger was demanding her attention in a shop. The quickest way out of this conversation was to give him what he wanted. “Fine,” she said. “It’s Lucia.” She recited her number quickly enough that he had to scramble for his phone. She paid for her things and left him standing by the counter. “I’m Jackson!” he called. She didn’t turn around. That evening, her phone rang while she was preparing dinner. An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen. She answered. “Hello?” “Hi, beautiful. It’s Jackson.” Lucia closed her eyes. Of course. “I remember you.” “I was hoping we could talk.” “I’ve had a long day, Jackson.” “Then let me take you out this weekend. You can relax, and we can get to know each other.” She considered ending the call. Instead, she sighed. “I’ll think about it.” “Please think quickly.” She hung up. Jackson was the sort of man she had encountered many times before: confident enough to approach a stranger and persistent enough to mistake a refusal for the beginning of a negotiation. She had no intention of dating him. At least, that was what she told herself. She returned to her dinner and thought no more about it. Or so she tried.