Chapter 17

Chief Okoro looked up sharply. "200 million?""Yes. So the real question is: are you going to lose 200 million for not paying 100?"The irony was brutal and perfect: Chief Okoro had bet 100 million thinking he would never lose; now, losing those 100 million could save him 200 million.But beyond the numbers, something else began to weigh on his conscience: the image of his mother on her knees cleaning floors; the image of Adanna doing exactly the same; the image of Emeka with that brilliant talent hidden behind patched clothes and chapped hands."I want to speak with the boy," he finally said. "Arrange a private meeting. Just him, his mother, and me."Aisha nodded. "I'll try, sir. But I don't know if they'll accept.""Let them know I want to apologize. Truly."For the first time in days, something resembling hope appeared on the faces of his employees. Perhaps, just perhaps, their boss wasn't completely lost.The question was: would it be enough, or was the damage already irreparably done? Outside, the journalists were still waiting, the cameras were still rolling, and the world was still watching. And in a small apartment on the outskirts, an eleven-year-old boy simply waited for an adult to keep his word.The meeting was scheduled for the next day at 5:00 p.m. in a neutral room: the office of Barrister Nnamdi Okafor, a seventy-year-old notary public with an impeccable reputation in the city. Aisha had suggested the location so that both parties would feel safe, away from cameras and media chaos.Adanna had spent the previous night sleepless, tossing and turning in her small bed while Chike snored softly beside her. Should they trust Chief Okoro? Was this another humiliation disguised as reconciliation? What if she took Emeka and things got worse?"We have to go," Chike had told her that morning as they had stale bread and weak coffee. "If we don't go, we'll always wonder what would have happened. Besides, Emeka deserves to hear what that man has to say."Emeka was unusually quiet as they prepared. He had put on his best clothes: trousers he only wore for special occasions, and a shirt Adanna had ironed three times until it was perfect. The boy looked at himself in the small, broken bathroom mirror, running his hands through his hair, trying to tame his unruly curls."You look very handsome, my love," Adanna told him from the doorway, her voice cracking slightly."Mama, do you think he really wants to apologize?"

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