Chapter 1

 

 Homecoming

 

     

     The Nigerian sun beat down relentlessly on Deji as he stepped out of Murtala Muhammed Airport, its heat feeling sharper, more intense than the sun he had grown accustomed to in the U.S. It was Sunday, and Lagos was bustling even on a day of rest, as though the city itself had no off switch. The familiar, chaotic hum enveloped him—fuel fumes, dust, and the constant movement of people. His heartbeat quickened, partly because of the humidity and partly because of the weight of his mission. This trip was not a family reunion or a vacation. It was personal. And dangerous.

     His phone vibrated in his pocket as he made his way through the crowded terminal. The screen lit up with a video call from Ada. Her face appeared, warm but shadowed by concern. “You’ve landed?” she asked softly, though her dark eyes betrayed the worry she had tried so hard to hide.

     “Yeah, just touched down,” Deji replied, forcing a reassuring smile. “Heading to the hotel now. Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.”

     “I just don’t know, Deji,” Ada sighed. “Something about this doesn’t sit right with me. You’re going to confront Senator Bala, and you think he’ll just admit to everything?”

     “It’s not about him confessing,” Deji said, his voice firm but gentle. “It’s about holding him accountable. He’s stolen millions that were meant to help people—money that could have built clinics, saved lives. I can’t just walk away from this.”

     Ada's image flickered slightly on the screen as the connection wavered. "I know, but you’re dealing with a powerful man. Just… be careful. You’ve got nothing to prove. I love you just the same, with or without this confrontation."

     "I’ll be careful," Deji promised. "I love you too. I'll call you later, okay?"

     “Okay,” she whispered, her voice almost trembling. "I love you."

     Deji ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. The plan was in motion. He had already arranged to hand over critical documents to Tunde, his best friend and a journalist with connections to international media. If Senator Bala refused to cooperate, he would have no other choice but to go public.

     After a brief pause, Deji scrolled through his phone and dialed his mother’s number. It rang twice before she picked up.

     “Deji, my son, have you arrived?” her voice carried the familiar warmth, but he could sense the underlying concern.

     “Yes, Mummy. I just touched down in Lagos,” he replied, keeping his tone steady. "Everything’s in place."

     “You know how worried I am about all this. Are you sure the plan will work?” she asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.

     Deji took a deep breath. “It will, Mummy. I’ve thought it through. Tunde is helping, and if it comes to it, we’ll expose everything. Senator Bala won’t have a choice.”

     His mother sighed, the weight of her concern evident even over the phone. “I’m praying for you, Deji. God will see you through this.”

     “Thank you, Mummy,” he said softly, feeling a brief moment of calm. “Amen to that.”

     “Stay safe, my son,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

     “I will. I’ll call you again soon,” Deji promised, before hanging up.

     The line went dead, and Deji stood still for a moment, absorbing the weight of what lay ahead. 

     As he climbed into a cab heading towards his hotel, a growing unease crept over him. He knew the risks, but his resolve stayed intact. He had come too far to back down now—there was no turning back.

---

     Across town, Senator Bala paced back and forth in his opulent study, his mind racing. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the harsh Lagos sunlight, but it couldn’t block out the storm brewing in his mind. Deji was back in Nigeria. The news had hit him earlier that morning, sending ripples of anxiety through his usual cool demeanor. This wasn't a simple problem—Deji knew too much. 

     Sitting across from Bala, one of his most trusted aides shifted nervously. “Our source has confirmed it, sir. He’s already checked into a hotel, and from what we’ve gathered, he’s been in touch with his U.S. partners. It looks like he’s planning to confront you.”

     Bala clenched his fists. The carefully laid plans to siphon off international aid funds had run smoothly—until Deji, the clean, respectable face of the project, had grown suspicious. Deji was supposed to be a puppet, but now he was a threat.Now he is under immense pressure from multiple fronts, making the stakes even higher

     “Handle this quietly,” Bala muttered, his eyes narrowing as he thought of the potential fallout. “Get the police involved. Frame him for something. Drugs, trafficking—anything that will stick.”

     “Sir, that could be risky—”

     “I don’t care!” Bala snapped, losing his composure for the first time in years. He wasn’t just fighting for money anymore; he was fighting for survival.

---

     Meanwhile, in Surulere, Sergeant Femi Ojo sat at his desk, staring blankly at the stack of papers in front of him. His mind drifted to memories of the day he joined the police force, against the wishes of his father, a devout and principled man who had begged him not to fall into the corrupt system.

     “The force is corrupt,” his father had warned. “There’s no place for honest men there.”

     But Femi had been idealistic. He thought he could make a difference. Now, years later, the weight of disillusionment pressed heavily on him. Corruption was everywhere—in the station, the courts, the government offices. And yet, Femi had resisted. He had remained clean, kept his head down, and did his job. But something about today felt different. His gut told him that a storm was brewing, and in Nigeria, storms rarely passed without casualties.

     The phone on his desk rang, pulling Femi from his thoughts. It was Chief Superintendent of Police (CSP) Adebayo, the DPO in charge of Surulere police station..

     “Femi, I need you to get a team together. We have a delicate operation. There’s a Nigerian-American staying at the Grand Royal Hotel. We’ve got intel suggesting he’s involved in illegal activities. We’re raiding his room, and it needs to be quick and quiet.”

     Femi frowned. “A Nigerian-American? Illegal activities? Sir, what’s going on?”

     “Just follow orders, Sergeant,” Adebayo’s voice was firm. “This one comes from high up. Don’t ask too many questions.”

     Femi hesitated for a moment before responding. “Sir, I understand the urgency, but I’ve been assigned a sensitive case by the Commissioner himself. It’s an ongoing investigation, and I need to be on it.”

     There was a pause on the other end. Adebayo let out a low sigh. “Right. I forgot about that. The Commissioner’s case, huh?”

     “Yes, sir,” Femi replied, relieved but keeping his tone neutral. “I don’t want to compromise that operation.”

     Another pause. Then, Adebayo muttered, “Fine. I’ll use someone else. Stay focused on your assignment.”

     “Thank you, sir,” Femi said, leaning back in his chair as the tension eased.

     He hung up, glad to have dodged the mission. Something about it didn’t sit right with him, and he trusted his instincts.

---

     Back at the Grand Royal Hotel, Deji entered his room with a sense of relief. The critical documents were already with Tunde, safely handed over to him an hour ago at the hotel bar where they meet. Now, he just needed to stay under the radar. He dropped his suitcase on the bed, his thoughts racing but somewhat calmer knowing the papers were secure. As he began unpacking, placing his laptop on the desk, his phone buzzed with a message from Ada.

     "Are you okay? I’ve been thinking about you all day."

     Deji smiled and quickly typed back, "I’m good. Just settling in. I’ll call you later."

     As he hit send, a strange feeling crept over him—a sense of unease that he couldn’t shake. He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to be watching him. Brushing off the feeling as nerves, he tried to focus on the task at hand. “Tomorrow, I will confront Bala” he thought. Everything hinged on that meeting.

     But the unease lingered.

---

     In Bala’s mansion, the senator leaned back in his leather chair, watching as one of his men handed him a sealed envelope. Inside were the documents Deji had entrusted to Tunde. Bala’s lips curled into a smug smile. He had anticipated Deji’s move, and with his connections, it had been all too easy to intercept the evidence.

     “The fool really thought he could outsmart me,” Bala muttered, flipping through the incriminating papers. “His naivety will be his undoing.”

     One of his aides, standing nearby, cleared his throat. “Sir, what if there are other copies? Maybe on his laptop or phone? We can’t be sure he’s given everything to our source.”

     Bala’s smile faded. The idea had crossed his mind. Deji wasn’t a complete fool—he would have backup plans. Leaning forward, Bala picked up his phone and dialed Adebayo.

     “Adebayo, I have the documents, but I need you to make sure this idiot doesn’t have anything else hidden. His laptop, his phone—search everything. I don’t want any surprises.”

     “Yes, sir,” Adebayo replied. “We’ll take care of it.”

     Bala ended the call, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. Deji had set the stage for this confrontation, but Bala wasn’t going to play his game. The trap was set, and it was only a matter of time before Deji walked into it.

---

     As night settled over Lagos, Deji’s sense of unease grew stronger. He paced around his hotel room, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. Tomorrow will decide everything. But even as he prepared for the showdown, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

     And in the shadows, the wheels of betrayal were already turning.

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