By the next morning, the company had become a boiling pot with the lid rattling. News outlets continued to circle the story like vultures, each circling headline sharper than the last. Anonymous tips fueled speculative reports. Anonymous insiders were quoted in sidebars. An entire business podcast had dedicated a segment to the emerging scandal. The fire Amaka and Chuka had tried to control was now breaking into full blaze.
Yet, this was no longer a battle of hiding. It was now a matter of facing the enemy. Face to face.
The boardroom had never looked more tense. Amaka noticed the change the moment she stepped inside. Chairs that used to spin lazily during meetings were now still. Eyes that once avoided hers now followed her every movement. Every hand held a tablet or folder. No one spoke until Chuka arrived and sat beside her, calmly opening his laptop.
The chairman cleared his throat.
"Before we begin, I will make this clear," he said, his voice even but sharp. "No leaks will be tolerated moving forward. Legal action will be taken against any party caught compromising the confidentiality of this investigation."
Amaka did not flinch.
She spoke clearly. "With all due respect, chairman, the leaks are no longer coming from whispers. They are coming from holes that were created long before I returned."
Several board members shifted in their seats. Dayo looked unmoved, his eyes half-lidded with practiced indifference.
"We are not here to point fingers," another board member said, but Amaka interrupted.
"We are absolutely here to point fingers," she said. "Because it is time for accountability."
She stood slowly, connecting her laptop to the projection screen. A digital map lit up. Names, company branches, and transaction points. This was not a repeat of the last presentation. This was sharper. Updated. Focused.
"We have traced the financial movement through two additional shell companies. One in Nairobi. One in Johannesburg. Both were registered under aliases. But our data team has now confirmed that both accounts were activated using identification numbers tied to one of our procurement leads."
The name appeared on the screen. A collective gasp swept through the room.
"The same lead," Amaka continued, "who signed off on internal approvals suggested by a third-party consultant whose name I believe everyone here will recognize."
She clicked again. The face of Ngozi's cousin, the same one linked to the digital firm that launched the smear campaign, appeared on the screen.
Now the room was no longer silent. Now it was boiling.
"This is slander," Dayo said, finally raising his voice. "You are dragging family members into company matters. This has gone beyond reason."
"It went beyond reason the moment you signed off on fake exit clearances," Chuka said calmly, not even raising his voice.
"You have no legal grounds to accuse me," Dayo snapped.
"Actually, we do," Chuka replied, opening his folder. "The external audit team just sent in their interim findings. You were listed among the four individuals flagged for direct abuse of internal procurement protocols. Would you like me to read it out loud?"
The boardroom fell still.
"I will step out," Dayo said suddenly, rising from his chair.
"No," Amaka said. "You will stay. Because you need to hear what you did to the company you claimed to protect."
She clicked again, showing graphs of financial losses over the last fiscal year. Red lines traced missing funds. Unauthorized transfers. Misplaced vendor fees.
"While we were fighting to keep investors," she said, "someone within our walls was bleeding us dry."
Another board member spoke, his tone weary. "So what now? We vote again? We call more press conferences?"
"No," Amaka replied. "Now we confront the consequences."
She turned to the chairman. "I propose a full legal process. Internal suspensions are no longer enough. Let the law begin its course."
Chuka added, "And in parallel, we contact our public relations team to control the message. We do not hide. We lead."
The chairman looked at the rest of the board. Some nodded slowly. Others hesitated.
"We will vote on the legal route," the chairman said. "But I will need assurances that this will not destroy us."
"Truth never destroys," Amaka said. "It rebuilds."
The vote was taken. The majority approved. For the first time, the company would be pursuing legal action against former and current staff involved in the fraud. It would be messy. But it would be honest.
After the meeting, Chuka and Amaka returned to the strategy room. This time, they were not alone. Bola, Adaeze, and Uchenna were present. Their small team was growing. And each one brought new pieces of the puzzle.
"We have tracked a total of nine suspicious vendor accounts," Bola reported. "Three are still active. One is set to receive a transfer by the end of the week."
"Can we intercept it?" Amaka asked.
"Yes," Bola nodded. "But it will require authorization from legal and compliance."
"Get it," Chuka said. "Tonight."
Adaeze added, "I also traced an unusual file hiding inside the old procurement server. It is labeled 'Client Retention Strategy,' but it contains blacklisted staff names, private profiles, even personal address records."
"That is a violation of privacy laws," Chuka said.
"It is worse," Amaka added. "It means they were watching those who refused to join the scheme."
Uchenna leaned forward. "And it means whoever controlled that file had enough access to intimidate from the inside."
"So we confront them too," Amaka said. "No more shadows."
They worked through the night. Phone calls. Document reviews. Risk assessments. By morning, they had compiled enough evidence to send to the legal department and prepare a brief for the national regulatory body. They would not just clean the company. They would report the dirt.
But confrontation came with retaliation.
Later that day, Chuka's assistant received a brown envelope delivered by hand. Inside were printed screenshots from years ago, showing Chuka's name associated with an unrelated investment firm that had once been under investigation. The accusation was vague but dangerous. The intent was clear.
"This is a warning shot," Amaka said, reading the contents.
"They are trying to smear me now," Chuka replied. "Typical tactic."
"What do we do?" Bola asked.
"We hold a press briefing," Amaka said. "Today."
"You sure?" Chuka asked.
"We strike back with clarity," she replied. "This ends now."
Within two hours, the conference room was prepared. Press members filed in. Microphones clicked. Cameras flashed. Amaka and Chuka stood side by side at the podium. No prepared speech. No script.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Amaka began. "You have heard rumors. You have seen headlines. Today, we give you facts."
She walked them through the timeline. From the internal discovery to the boardroom confrontation. She did not name names, but she did not hide the story.
Chuka spoke next.
"I have nothing to hide," he said. "And neither does this company moving forward."
After they spoke, questions came in waves. Who was responsible? Were arrests coming? What about investor confidence?
Amaka answered each question with measured strength. She did not overpromise. She did not avoid.
"We are not perfect," she said. "But we are committed. And that is what matters."
After the conference, they returned to the building. The staff applauded as they passed. It was not loud. It was not overwhelming. But it was genuine. And that was enough.
In her office, Amaka stood by the window, looking at the horizon. Chuka joined her a few moments later.
"We did it," he said.
"No," she replied. "We are doing it. The battle has just shifted. But we are stronger now."
He placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
"I will be right beside you. Every step."
She turned to him.
"I know."
The fire across the table had not destroyed them.
It had forged them.