Chapter Three: Threads of Deception
1175 Words
Zara leaned against the wall of her flat, watching the sun disappear behind the skyline of Lagos. The city glowed beneath her, a living, breathing organism pulsing with chaos and secrets. She could feel it—this strange sense that something monumental was building under the surface, drawing her back into a world she thought she had long escaped.
Her laptop still hummed on the desk, the screen glowing with her notes and diagrams. The phrase at the center of it all glared back at her:
Leonel Evans – Redemption or Ruse?
She charted everything from Brier Circle's timeline, funding sources, Leonel’s business expansions, to news clippings and social media whispers. A name kept recurring—Chuka Agbaje, a silent partner listed in Brier Circle’s early incorporation filings.
Zara frowned. Chuka had ties to the former administration’s shadow banking. If he was involved, then Leonel’s clean image was paper-thin.
A knock startled her. She peeked through the peephole.
Leonel.
She considered ignoring him but something in her heart—whether weakness or curiosity—urged her to open the door.
He stood with his hands in his pockets, more casual than she’d seen him in years. A gray pullover. No security detail.
“Can I come in?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated, then stepped aside.
He walked in and immediately noticed the notes on the table.
“You’re still investigating me,” he said flatly.
“I don’t like surprises,” she replied, crossing her arms. “What do you want, Leonel?”
He looked around, absorbing the space. “I remembered how much you used to love the skyline at dusk. I thought I’d bring dinner. Talk like old friends.”
“Friends?” Her voice was a bitter laugh. “We crossed that line years ago.”
He set the bag down. “Then let’s talk like people who once loved each other.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And lied to each other. Don’t forget that part.”
He met her gaze. “I never lied to you, Zara. I omitted things to protect you.”
“Like your partner, Chuka? The one with a trail of money laundering charges in three countries?”
His shoulders tensed. “That was a long time ago.” I cut ties with Chuka years before Brier Circle.
“But you accepted his funding.”
“Seed capital. Clean. Cleared by two regulatory bodies.”
“On the surface,” she countered. “But I know the patterns.” Shell accounts. Fake consulting fees. "It’s all here.” She pointed to her files.
He sighed. “Why are you really doing this, Zara? Revenge? Closure?”
She blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know. Maybe both.”
He reached for the wine he had brought. “Then let’s start with the truth. Ask me anything.”
She hesitated, then sat across from him.
“What happened the night you disappeared?”
He took a sip before answering. “There was a raid on one of my subsidiary offices. Federal agents. Someone tipped them off. Chuka panicked. He wanted to erase everything. I refused. That’s when I knew he was dangerous. So I vanished. I had to sever the ties in a way that wouldn’t trace back to you.”
She searched his face, unsure what to believe.
“And your reappearance now?”
He met her gaze. “You deserve to reclaim your place, Zara. I want to help you do that. But more than that... I miss you.”
The confession hung between them like a thread stretched to break.
Three days later, Zara stood in front of the glass facade of the Brier Circle headquarters. Modern, sleek, and self-assured—like everything Leonel touched. Inside, a buzz of ambition filled the air. Women in smart suits paced through hallways, interns balanced trays of coffee, and camera crews captured a promotional shoot in the atrium.
She was escorted by Toke into a boardroom with high ceilings and soundproofed glass. Leonel was already inside, flanked by three other executives.
“Welcome, Ms. Smith,” said one of them, a man in his fifties with sharp eyes. “I’m Mr. Adewale, financial director. We’ve been briefed on your possible involvement.”
Zara nodded, adjusting her blazer. “Let’s be clear. "I’m not here to play figurehead. "I want transparency, access to decision-making, and I reserve the right to back out if I see red flags.”
The room was quiet.
Leonel smiled faintly. “This is why I brought you in.”
She sat, heart thudding, and listened as they presented the year’s plans, from school outreach to startup funding. Every word was calculated. But she paid attention to the omissions.
Later, during a private tour, she caught a glimpse of a closed wing—no labels, no entry signs, just a keycard scanner. Her guide, a junior manager, stumbled when she asked what it was.
“Oh, that’s… uh, where archival donations are stored.”
“May I see it?”
“I’d need clearance. Mr. Evans can approve it.”
Zara nodded. Another mystery. Another key.
That evening, she met with Iffy at a hidden rooftop bar in Yaba. The city’s energy pulsed below them.
“I’ve dug into Chuka’s travel records,” Iffy said, passing her a file. He’s in Dubai now. But a shell company linked to him just signed a consulting deal with Brier Circle under another name. Futura Global.”
Zara cursed softly. “Leonel’s lying.”
“Or he doesn’t know,” Iffy offered.
Zara doubted that. Leonel knew everything. He always had.
“But what’s the endgame?” Iffy asked.
Zara looked out over the glittering skyline.
“I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out. Even if it destroys us both.”
Leonel stood by the pool at his private estate, nursing a scotch and staring at the stars. He knew Zara was digging. He had counted on it. He also knew that telling her the whole truth would destroy whatever fragile thread they were rebuilding.
There were things she couldn’t understand yet.
He walked to his study, opened a hidden drawer, and pulled out an envelope marked with her name. Inside, photos. Documents. A confession.
One day, he would give it to her.
But not today.
Not while they still had time.
Zara returned to her flat just before midnight. As she entered, something felt off. A scent. A silence. Her eyes darted towards the window.
Slightly ajar.
She scanned the room. Everything looked untouched—but her files were no longer stacked the way she left them.
Her breath hitched.
Someone has been here.
She closed the window, locked it, and grabbed her burner phone.
Zara (to Iffy): “They’re watching me.”
Iffy: “You okay?”
Zara: “For now. But this just got personal.”
She stared at the closed door, her heart pounding.
It wasn’t just about Leonel anymore.
Someone wanted her silenced.
And they had just declared war.
- Writer
