By the following morning, the air in the company had changed again, but this time it was not thick with confusion or fear. It was heavy with expectation. Amaka could feel it from the moment she stepped into the building. Every greeting was brief. Every handshake came with an extra pause. It was the silence before something bigger, not because nothing was happening, but because everyone was waiting for the next move.
The media briefing from the previous day had drawn a line in the sand. Amaka and Chuka were now clearly the face of the resistance against corruption. But they both knew that clarity did not equal safety. It only meant that those still in the shadows would now double their efforts to strike before the light exposed them completely.
Inside her office, Amaka went straight to the documents Bola had printed out overnight. They were lined up neatly on her desk, tagged in blue and red. Red meant danger. Blue meant leads. She picked up the top folder marked in red and opened it. It was a summary of the data recovered from the procurement server Adaeze had flagged. Within the file was a strange memo dated three months ago, with vague language about a restructuring initiative. It referenced departments that had nothing to do with procurement, including finance and executive strategy. More alarming was the line that mentioned outsourcing compliance checks to a consulting firm with no listed address.
She frowned. This was deeper than internal fraud. This had been a plan to restructure power entirely. Not just for money, but for control.
Chuka walked in, already holding his coffee.
"You are early," she said.
"I barely slept," he replied, walking over. "The legal team is ready to begin the first round of suspensions. They need your signature on two of the authorizations."
She took the forms and signed without hesitation.
"What about the regulatory commission?" she asked.
"They will visit tomorrow," Chuka replied. "But we already sent them the summary package. They were impressed. And a bit surprised."
"We do not have time to wait for surprises," Amaka said. "We need to prepare for backlash."
Chuka nodded. "We already have one."
He handed her a small envelope. It was addressed anonymously, but inside was a printed list of her personal bank transactions from the past year. Most of them were routine. Rent. School donations. Book orders. A few international transactions tied to her earlier time abroad. There was nothing illegal. Nothing suspicious. But the very act of sending this to her was a warning.
"They are digging," she said.
"They are desperate," Chuka replied.
Amaka turned away from the desk and walked toward the window, letting the sunlight calm her thoughts. Below, the company courtyard was quiet. She remembered when that space used to be filled with laughter, lunchtime conversations, and outdoor meetings. Now it was mostly empty. People were staying indoors. Watching.
"We need to flip this," she said suddenly.
Chuka looked up. "Flip what?"
"The fear. The silence. We need to stop waiting for the next leak or anonymous threat. We need to take initiative."
He placed his coffee down and folded his arms. "You are thinking public again."
"No," she said. "Internal first. Let us hold a staff forum. No screens. No scripts. Just face to face. We tell them what we are doing. We listen. We remind them that this company is not falling apart. It is healing."
He smiled slightly. "You know that is risky."
"So is silence," she said. "But one inspires change. The other keeps us frozen."
He nodded. "Then we hold it in the main hall. Lunch hour. Make it optional, but open."
Amaka turned to him. "And you will stand with me?"
"I always will," he said without pause.
They got to work quickly. Bola helped notify department heads. Adaeze managed logistics. Uchenna set up a temporary sound system. Word spread through the building like fire on dry grass. By the time lunch hour arrived, the main hall was packed.
Amaka stood at the front with Chuka beside her. They faced the crowd. Some faces were familiar. Others were not. But every eye was focused.
She took the microphone and began.
"I know the last few weeks have felt like a storm," she said. "And I know many of you have wondered where we are heading. I cannot promise that the road ahead will be easy. But I can promise this. We are no longer pretending. We are no longer ignoring the cracks. We are facing them."
She paused, letting her words sink in.
"This company belongs to all of us," she continued. "And if we are going to rebuild it, we have to do it together. Not with fear. But with truth. With accountability."
She looked toward Chuka.
He took the microphone and spoke with calm strength.
"We know some of you have been hurt. Some have been silenced. Some have been watching from the sidelines, unsure where to stand. We are here today to tell you that you have a place in this new chapter. If you want to work in a company that values integrity, your voice matters. If you want to keep doing things the old way, you might be uncomfortable moving forward."
There was a murmur of agreement in the crowd.
A hand went up near the back. It was a young man from the IT department.
"What happens to those responsible?" he asked. "Are they going to jail?"
Amaka did not hesitate. "The law is already in motion. And we will not interfere. Our job is not revenge. Our job is restoration. But justice will take its course."
Another question came. Then another. And soon, the hall was buzzing with dialogue. Some questions were hard. Some emotional. But they answered all of them.
By the end of the session, the room erupted in quiet applause. Not thunderous. Not dramatic. Just honest.
Afterward, Amaka and Chuka walked out through the side hallway. Neither spoke for a while. But their steps were light. Their hearts steadier.
Later that evening, back in her office, Amaka received a call from someone unexpected. It was Ngozi. She had not spoken to her since the beginning of the investigation.
"I assume you are calling to defend your cousin," Amaka said, keeping her tone flat.
"No," Ngozi replied. "I am calling to give you a name."
Amaka blinked. "Go on."
"Your investigation has gaps," Ngozi continued. "The original proposal to shift vendor control did not start with my cousin. It came from a retired board member. He still holds influence. Still visits our chairman unofficially. Look into Felix Okwu."
Amaka froze. Felix Okwu had left the board two years ago. Quietly. Respectfully. No scandals. No noise. He had even sent her flowers when she returned.
"If you are lying—" Amaka began.
"I am not," Ngozi interrupted. "I am protecting myself. I have made mistakes. But I never meant for this to grow this far. I am tired."
The call ended.
Amaka turned slowly. Chuka had just walked in.
"Bad time?" he asked.
"No," she said. "Perfect time. We just got a new name. And a deeper root."
Chuka listened carefully as she relayed the conversation. When she finished, he was already dialing Bola.
"Time to dig again," he said. "Quietly."
The rest of the evening passed in careful coordination. Bola ran a background search. Adaeze combed old board minutes. Uchenna reviewed archived email logs. By midnight, they had enough to confirm what Ngozi said. Felix Okwu had helped design the internal system that was later manipulated. He had maintained casual communication with two vendors still flagged in the audit. And he had visited the building three times in the last six months, always through the back entrance.
Amaka leaned back in her chair.
"This goes deeper than we thought."
Chuka sat beside her.
"But we are getting closer."
The office lights dimmed slowly around them. But neither of them felt tired. Not yet.
There was work to finish.
And the truth still had more to reveal.