The drive home from Akanbi's office was a blur of honking horns and searing humiliation. Peter's hands were clenched so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles were bone-white. The cold, triumphant look in Akanbi's eyes played on a loop behind his own. "Lesson one. Lesson two will be more painful."
He walked into the modest but comfortable family home in Surulere, the air thick with a different kind of tension. His father, Chief Emmanuel, was in his study, the door ajar. Peter could see the back of his head, bowed over his desk. His older brother, Michael, was pacing the living room, phone pressed to his ear, his voice strained.
"Yes, sir, we understand the committee's decision… but if we could just have a chance to resubmit the correct… I see. Yes. Thank you."
Michael ended the call and hurled his phone onto the sofa. He ran a hand over his face, looking every one of his thirty years and then some. He saw Peter and stopped, his expression hardening from frustration into something colder.
"Where have you been?" Michael's voice was low, controlled.
"I had to see someone," Peter said, his own voice rough.
"See someone," Michael repeated, a bitter laugh escaping him. "While I was on the phone for two hours being told that eight months of work is trash because of a formatting error? A formatting error, Peter! Do you know how that sounds? It sounds like an excuse. It sounds like we offended someone."
Peter's blood ran cold. "What did they say?"
"They said nothing! That's the point! It's a wall of polite, bureaucratic nothing! This doesn't just happen." Michael stepped closer, his eyes searching Peter's face. "The only unusual thing that has happened to this family recently is you crashing into a billionaire's car. Tell me I'm wrong."
The weight of the unspoken truth was a stone in Peter's throat. He couldn't breathe. He saw his father's shoulders sag in the other room.
"Michael… it's complicated."
"Complicated?" Michael's control snapped. "Our biggest potential contract in two years is gone! Dad is in there looking like he's aged ten years in one afternoon! What is complicated? Did you offend that man? Akanbi Onobanjo?"
There was no point lying. The destruction was already here. "Yes."
"How?" Michael demanded. "How do you offend a man like that so badly he goes after our livelihood? Did you refuse to pay? Was the insurance not enough?"
Peter looked at his brother, at the genuine confusion and betrayal in his eyes. How could he explain? He wants me. He wants to break me. And he's starting with you. The words were too insane, too humiliating to say.
"It's not about the money," Peter said finally, the admission tasting like ash. "It's… personal."
"Personal?" Michael stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "What personal business do you have with Akanbi Onobanjo? Peter, what have you done?"
Before Peter could form an answer that wouldn't destroy everything, his phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number, but he knew. His stomach twisted.
Unknown: I hope the lesson is clear. The next one involves reputation. Give your brother my regards.
The threat was unambiguous. Akanbi wasn't waiting. He was moving to the next phase already. Reputation. Peter's mind raced. How? How could he attack their reputation?
The answer came three days later, in the form of a woman.
Michael was at a business mixer at the Lagos Continental Hotel, trying to salvage connections from the Dantata wreckage, feeling like a man wearing a "loser" sign. He was nursing a tonic water, mentally rehearsing pitches, when she appeared.
She was stunning. Impeccably dressed in a couture dress that screamed money, with a smile that was both confident and subtly inviting. She introduced herself as Rachel Adisa. He knew the name socialite, minor celebrity, famously linked to powerful men.
"You're Michael Emmanuel, right? Emmanuel & Sons?" she said, her voice like honey.
Michael, surprised she knew him, nodded. "Yes, that's right."
"I heard about the Dantata bid. Such a shame. Sometimes these committees have no vision," she said, sipping her champagne, her eyes full of sympathetic warmth. "I actually know one of the advisors. Such a rigid man."
A spark of hope, fragile and desperate, ignited in Michael's chest. "It's been a difficult week."
"I can imagine," Rachel purred, moving slightly closer. "You know, it's refreshing to meet someone who actually builds things. Most men in this room just move money around." She let her gaze sweep over him appreciatively. "You seem… real."
It was a balm to his wounded pride. For the next hour, Rachel was captivating. She listened intently to him talk about the business, asked smart questions, and laughed at his jokes. She made him feel seen, important, and strangely, desired. She "accidentally" brushed his arm, her perfume enveloping him. She was a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.
They exchanged numbers. She texted him the next day. "Really enjoyed our talk. You're different. Drinks this week?"
Michael, flattered and intrigued, said yes. He didn't tell Peter. Peter was the source of the problem, shrouded in his "complicated" personal mess. This was his good fortune, a bright spot in the gloom.
Their first "drinks" turned into dinner. Rachel was a master. She shared just enough vulnerable information about her own life to seem genuine. She lamented the superficiality of her world. She made Michael feel like he was rescuing her from a gilded cage.
Two weeks after they met, Rachel invited him to her apartment in Ikoyi. It was opulent but tasteful. They drank wine on her balcony. The mood was intimate. She traced the rim of her glass, her expression turning serious.
"Michael… I like you. A lot. And it kills me to see what's happening to your family."
Michael's guard, already lowered by wine and her attention, fell completely. "What do you mean?"
She looked pained. "I hear things. In my circles. There's a rumor… it's ugly. And it's the reason the vultures are starting to circle your business."
"What rumor?" Michael asked, his heart beginning to pound.
Rachel hesitated, playing the reluctant messenger perfectly. 'It's about your brother, Peter. And Akanbi Onobanjo." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "People are saying Peter didn't just hit his car. They're saying he… propositioned him. Made a pass at him. And when Akanbi, who is very straight and very private, was disgusted and refused, Peter got angry. That this whole thing… the contract being blocked… it's Akanbi's quiet way of punishing the shame Peter brought to his door."
The world tilted. Michael felt the wine sour in his stomach. The pieces the personal insult, the disproportionate retaliation clicked into a horrifying, plausible picture. Peter' shameful secret, the one he couldn't speak, was this. It wasn't just an offense. It was a scandal. A disgusting, embarrassing scandal that would make them pariahs.
"No," Michael whispered, but it was weak. It made a terrible, awful sense.
"I'm so sorry," Rachel said, placing a comforting hand on his arm, her eyes full of manufactured pity. "I just thought you should know what you're really up against. It's not business. It's a vendetta. Because of Peter's… actions."
She let the poison settle. She saw the betrayal and dawning horror in Michael's eyes. The manipulation was complete. She had taken Akanbi's directive and woven it into a masterpiece of ruin. She had turned brother against brother, using the most potent weapon in their world shame.
When Michael left her apartment that night, he wasn't thinking about Rachel's soft lips or her sympathetic eyes. He was thinking of one thing: the liar, the shame-bringer, sleeping under his father's roof.
Peter had not just lost them a contract.
He had poisoned their name.