I arrive at the office tower five minutes ahead of my rescheduled meeting. Not early, but not late enough to send the kind of message I dread. That I'm slipping. That Rita Amadi the woman who built Amadi Freight from a dusty warehouse in Apapa into West Africa's most respected logistics firm is losing her edge.
Kola steps out swiftly and opens my door. Still no smile. No idle chatter. Just presence. I step down, heels clicking against the marble pavement, and I hear the doors of the building whisper open.
My assistant, Gloria, meets me in the lobby, tablet in hand, lipstick perfect, eyes darting between me and Kola with barely veiled curiosity.
"That's the new driver?" she whispers.
"Yes."
"Hmm. Upgrade."
I give her a sharp look and she straightens her spine. "Your 8:30 is already waiting. The marketing director called three times. There's news from the press."
"Handle the press. Tell her I'll call after the board update."
"And the press said..."
"I said handle it, Gloria."
She nods, lips pressed together. She knows better than to argue.
We ride the elevator in silence. My reflection in the mirrored walls shows no sign of fatigue, no crack in the armor. The tailored navy-blue power suit fits like it was made for war. My makeup is untouched. My posture, regal.
But inside, I feel the flutter.
Not panic cause I never never panic but that low hum that starts when the universe is shifting. Something is off. And I can't explain it. It started when Kola appeared at the gate this morning and has grown ever since. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable it was alert. Focused. He drove like he was studying me, or more disturbingly, like he already knew me.
When the elevator doors slide open, I sweep into the executive floor like I own it. Because I do.
Tunde from marketing is pacing by the glass wall, rubbing his forehead like he's solving cancer. When he sees me, he straightens.
"There's a leak," he blurts. "Someone's been feeding the tabloids. About you. About the company."
"What kind of leak?"
"Your restructuring strategy. Your move to cut out European partnerships it's in the blogs already. With quotes. Real ones."
"Who leaked it?"
"We're not sure yet. But the press is saying you're planning to sell."
"Lies."
"Yes, but... the market believes it."
I sit, calm. "Call a press conference for tomorrow. I'll deny the rumors personally. And I want everyone on the communications team to sign a fresh NDA. Anyone who refuses, fire them with immediate effect no considerations.
Tunde blinks. "Yes, ma."
I dismiss him with a flick of my hand. Gloria brings me an espresso and wordlessly hands me a printed list of staff members who have submitted resignation letters in the last thirty days.
Seven names.
That's more than usual.
That's way too many people to be considered a coincidence.
I read the names, pausing at one: Ada Nwankwo. Senior finance officer. Quiet. Efficient. Loyal. Or so I thought.
"Why did Ada resign?" I asked no one in particular
Gloria frowns. "She didn't give a reason. Just said she was going abroad. Sent a short message on WhatsApp."
"Call her." I barked as though I were ready to devour Gloria
"Now?"
"Yes."
She hesitates, then dials. It rings twice, then goes back to voicemail.
I lean back. My instincts are rarely wrong. And right now, they're telling me someone's tampering with my foundation. Quietly, subtly. The leak. The resignations. The press chatter.
Someone's planting termites in my empire.
And termites don't come alone. They work in colonies.
I glance out the window. From this height, Lagos looks organized. The roads form patterns, the buildings rise like chess pieces on a massive board. But I know better. This city is a game of shadows. Nothing is as clean as it looks.
There's a soft knock on the door. Gloria peeks in.
"Your 10:00 is here. Mr. Lawal."
"Send him in."
He's one of our oldest investors. Traditional. Patriarchal. The kind of man who still believes a woman should be grateful to sit at the table, let alone own it.
He walks in with a stiff smile.
"Rita. Always a pleasure."
"Likewise."
"I wanted to check in. You know how these rumors get out of hand. My people are nervous."
"Mine too. But I'm not selling. The leak was planted."
"Do you know who did it?"
"Not yet. But I will."
His eyes narrow. He studies me like he wants to believe me but doesn't fully. "I hope you're not... distracted."
My mouth hardens. "I've never been sharper."
"Good. Because when women in power fall, they fall harder than men. The world doesn't forgive ambition in a skirt."
"I don't fall," I say. "I calculate risk."
He chuckles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He leaves a moment later, still smiling. I watch him go, and I know. If he thinks the ship is sinking, he'll be the first to abandon it and take others with him.
I stand and walk to the window. My reflection overlaps with the view. Lagos behind me. Rita Amadi in front.
But for the first time, I can feel something shifting beneath me. Like the ground is tilting ever so slightly, threatening to unbalance everything I've built.
I'm not scared.
But I'm paying attention.
I dial the number on Kola's reference letter. It rings three times, then disconnects.
No voicemail. No tone.
I dial the second.
Disconnected.
I narrow my eyes. It could be nothing. A coincidence. Or a lie.
I press a button on the intercom. "Gloria, cancel the rest of my morning meetings."
"Everything?"
"Yes. Tell them something came up."
I grab my bag and head out.
Kola is parked in front, car gleaming in the mid-morning sun. He steps out and opens the door.
"Back home?" he asks.
"No," I say. "We're going to Surulere."
He doesn't ask why.
He just nods, gets in, and starts driving.