Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Siege
The upper floors of the Eze Tower in Victoria Island were a masterclass in modern corporate warfare. Glass walls looked out over the Atlantic Ocean, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of bitter espresso and high-stakes panic. Chijioke stood at the head of the long boardroom table, his jacket off, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, looking down at the printouts of the morning financial blogs.
The scandal hadn't just affected Adanna; it was being used as leverage. The Banjo Group had leaked a series of falsified reports suggesting that Chijioke’s recent charitable donations to the education sector were a front for tax evasion, using Adanna’s school as the primary example.
“The stock dropped two points at the opening bell, Chijioke,” his chief financial officer, a sharp older man named Segun, said, tapping a pen against his tablet.
“The international investors from London are calling. They don't care about your dating life, but they do care if the Federal Inland Revenue Service starts auditing our community outreach programs. We need a statement. We need to distance ourselves from the girl.”
Chijioke slowly raised his eyes, his gaze so cold that Segun’s pen stopped moving instantly. The room went entirely silent.
“Distance ourselves?” Chijioke murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, lethal register that made his executives sweat.
“Adanna Okoro has spent three years working fourteen-hour days for a salary that wouldn't cover the cost of the shoes you're wearing right now, Segun. She has never asked me for a single kobo. She didn't even want to come to the gala. The Banjo Group is using a fraudulent smear campaign to manipulate our board elections, and your solution is to throw an innocent citizen to the wolves to save two points on the index?”
The door to the boardroom swung open, and Omotara Banjo walked in, flanked by her father’s lead attorney. She was wearing a cream-colored power suit, her hair slicked back into a flawless ponytail, looking like a woman who had already won the war.
“Good morning, Chijioke,” Omotara said, sitting down at the opposite end of the table without being asked. She gestured to her attorney, who slid a thick blue binder across the glass toward Chijioke.
“Let’s stop the theatrics. The board election is in forty-eight hours. My father’s group controls thirty percent of the voting shares. We can release the retraction to the press right now—tell them it was a misunderstanding, that Miss Okoro was simply a temporary consultant for our literacy initiative. All you have to do is sign the joint-venture agreement for the Lekki port expansion. The Banjos get the management rights, and your little teacher gets her quiet life back.”
Chijioke didn't touch the binder. He stood at his full height, his broad shoulders framing the window behind him, looking down at Omotara with an expression of pure, unadulterated contempt.
“You haven't changed, Tara,” he said softly.
“You still think everything in this world can be bought, sold, or blackmailed. You think because you grew up with a silver spoon, you can rewrite the truth to suit your balance sheet.”
Omotara’s eyes narrowed into slits. “The truth is whatever the blogs say it is, Chijioke. Right now, Miss Okoro is a gold-digging opportunist who is ruining your family’s legacy. If you don't sign that agreement by five o'clock today, the next set of photos will include her old university records, her family’s financial history, and every small mistake she’s ever made. We will dismantle her, piece by piece, until she can't even get a job cleaning blackboards in this country.”
Chijioke slowly leaned forward, his hands flat on the mahogany table, his face just inches from hers.
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“Then you better start digging, Tara,” Chijioke hissed.
“Because if you touch one more piece of her life, I will not just reject the merger. I will liquidate my entire holding in the Banjo Group, crash your father’s stock by morning, and buy your family’s estate out of bankruptcy before the weekend is over. Try me.”
