The night before had been a blur of fear and adrenaline for Ada. Razor’s threats had hung in the air like a death sentence, until the gunfire outside her door shattered the silence. She’d heard the rival gang ambush him, the crack of shots ringing out into the darkness, each one sending chills down her spine. Sleep had been impossible; she lay awake, heart pounding, until the first light of Thursday crept through her window. As dawn finally broke, her phone buzzed—another message from Onos.
“Let’s talk. I need your side of the story. The world is waiting.”
This was her chance, her moment to tip the scales against Bala and expose everything she knew. Without a second thought, Ada opened her files, attaching the documents she’d been hiding—every lie, every detail. Her fingers shook as she typed out her account, revealing the schemes, the secrets, and Tunde’s betrayal. Finally, she hit send, watching as her message vanished into cyberspace, and with it, the last of her fear.
Onos wasted no time. Within minutes, he had reposted the video of Deji’s arrest, this time with a striking caption: “Guess who ordered this arrest? Stay tuned. At 10:00 a.m., we expose everything.” The reaction was immediate. Within just ten minutes, the post had racked up hundreds of thousands of views and likes across his social media platforms, sparking an eruption of comments.
“Finally! I knew something shady was going on,” one user replied.
“About time someone speaks up for Deji! We’re ready, Onos,” said another, tagging friends and adding #FreeDeji.
“10 a.m. can’t come fast enough!” another comment read, while someone else added, “Let’s see Bala worm his way out of this one. The truth always comes out!”
The hashtags #FreeDeji and #BalaGates surged to the top of the trends, and with every refresh, Ada watched Onos’s influence grow, an unstoppable wave carrying her story to the world.
---
Miles away, in the quiet seclusion of his mansion, Senator Bala sat in his dimly lit study, his face twisted in frustration as he scanned the TV. Channel after channel replayed clips of Deji’s arrest, overlaid with the headlines: “Corruption Scandal Unfolds,” “Citizens Demand Justice,” and “Who is Senator Bala?”
His phone rang. Bala answered hastily, hoping it was someone offering a solution. Instead, his public relations officer sounded frantic.
“Sir, this Onos character—he’s posting things about you. He’s threatening to ‘expose everything’ by 10 a.m. People are... people are calling you a thief, a monster—”
“I know!” Bala snapped. “Have you reached Tunde? Or Razor?”
“Tunde isn’t answering, sir. He… he might be distancing himself.”
Bala gripped the phone tighter. “He wouldn’t dare. Not after everything he’s gotten from me.”
The PR officer hesitated, his voice dropping lower. “And, about Razor, sir… He was ambushed last night in Ajegunle. Rival gangs, they say. Razor’s now in police custody.”
Bala’s eyes widened. “In custody?” His mind raced, thinking of all the secrets Razor could spill under pressure. “This can’t happen. Find a way to get him out.”
“Sir, I’ve tried. No one’s willing to intervene. He’s wanted for multiple cases; nobody wants to take that risk. It’s... it's like they’re all avoiding him now.”
Bala, feeling a pulse of desperation, ended the call and immediately started dialing other contacts, scrambling for any leverage he could use to free Razor. Every attempt hit a dead end. Former allies now gave curt excuses, acting as if his name was suddenly too heavy to bear.
Sitting back, a wave of dread washed over him. Years of building alliances, silencing opponents, and outmaneuvering enemies—all of it seemed to be crumbling. Was there someone behind this? Were there bigger players pulling strings to bring him down? For the first time, a dark uncertainty settled over him, an unstoppable storm he couldn’t control.
---
At exactly 10 a.m., Onos delivered on his promise. His social media accounts exploded with a series of damning posts. The first showed grim photos of the abandoned construction sites—supposed health centers reduced to crumbling concrete frames and rusted rebar. There was no sign of life or progress, only the stark image of promises left unfulfilled.
Beneath each photo, he added biting captions: “Your children’s lives, traded for dirty money,” and “Health centers that exist only on paper, while the Senator grows fatter.” Each line stoked the fury building across the nation, and his followers responded, sharing the posts, commenting, tagging friends and family members. It was as if an invisible floodgate had burst, and Bala’s sins were spilling out for everyone to see.
Then, with precision, Onos began dropping document after document, evidence that laid bare the corruption. The paper trails, contracts, and transfers all pointed in one direction—straight to Bala. Each file was meticulously organized, with Onos highlighting key lines, names, and figures, proving beyond doubt that the Senator had orchestrated a vast scheme to launder millions meant for building health centers in impoverished communities.
The posts spread like wildfire, each share amplifying the anger across the country. The hashtags #BalaGates, #CorruptionUnmasked, and #FreeDeji shot to the top of the trends. People from all walks of life were engaging—commenting, reposting, calling for Bala’s immediate prosecution. The whole nation seemed to rise up as one voice, demanding justice.
In seconds, the internet erupted. People in affected communities took to the streets, wielding makeshift placards with Bala’s face printed across them. They shouted and chanted, demanding justice. News stations captured it all, broadcasting the angry faces, the placards bearing slogans like “Bala Must Go” and “Arrest the Corrupt!” The protests snowballed, spreading to nearby towns, becoming a national rallying cry against corruption.
The chaos on social media only intensified when Onos posted screenshots of text messages between Tunde and Ada. He accompanied the images with a single line that was pure dynamite: “How did Tunde know about Deji’s arrest just minutes after the raid? Frenemies in high places?”
The question was enough to cast suspicion over Tunde, sparking a flood of commentary. The executives of OON News responded immediately, issuing a statement that Tunde was placed on administrative leave “pending an investigation.”
Tunde, alone in his apartment, read the announcement in shock. The words blurred before his eyes, and he felt the walls closing in. He’d been abandoned, left to face the consequences of his actions. The jealousy that had driven him to betray Deji now gnawed at him with bitterness. He had nowhere to turn.
The only option was to disappear.
---
At the hospital, Deji had just finished a quiet breakfast, his attention fixed on the television in his ward. News anchors and commentators were in heated discussion, dissecting every piece of the scandal that had erupted. Senator Bala’s face dominated the screen, his reputation unraveling before a national audience. Words like “corruption,” “embezzlement,” and “betrayal” echoed from the television, accompanied by damning visuals and documents that Onos had made public that morning.
Deji felt a surge of fulfillment wash over him as he watched. All the suffering, the isolation, and fear of the past five days—at least it hadn’t been for nothing. Finally, the truth he’d been fighting to expose was seeing the light of day. Bala was being held accountable, his power and influence shaken to the core.
His doctor entered and checked his vitals, nodding approvingly at his progress. But the handcuffs around his wrists and the police officers stationed just outside his door served as an unwanted reminder of his own predicament. He sighed, casting a glance at Chief Okafor, his lawyer, who was deep in conversation with embassy officials on the other side of the room.
“Why am I still in handcuffs?” Deji muttered, frustration seeping into his voice. “Why are there officers outside, as if I’m the criminal here?”
Chief Okafor looked up, his expression calm but sympathetic. “We’re working on it, Deji. The truth is coming to light, and it’s only a matter of time before they have no reason to keep you here. But it’s a process—just a little more patience.”
Deji’s thoughts drifted to Ada. The idea of her hiding because of him gnawed at his heart. “I need to see Ada, Chief. I need to know she’s safe.”
Okafor’s face softened, though caution lined his words. “Deji, it’s not safe for her right now. We have to wait until we clear the warrant of arrest on her. One misstep could land her right where you are.”
Deji’s fists clenched, tension rolling off him. “They’re dragging her into this because of me. She doesn’t deserve any of it.”
“I know,” Okafor replied gently. “But if we reveal her location now, it could jeopardize everything. Give us a little more time. Trust that we’re close.”
Deji leaned back, jaw clenched, a heavy silence settling over him. As he turned his gaze back to the television, watching Senator Bala’s downfall unfold, a part of him took solace. His fight had meant something; the truth was finally breaking free. Now, he just needed the patience to see it all through.
---
Around mid-afternoon, a sleek black SUV rolled up to the Surulere police station, its tinted windows reflecting the tension hanging thickly in the air. The arrival of the vehicle wasn’t ordinary; this was the team from Abuja, sent by the Inspector General himself to dig into the storm of corruption that had flooded the headlines, fueled by Onos’s unyielding exposés. Stepping out, their faces set in steely resolve, they entered the station in silence. The steady click of their shoes echoed off the tiled floor, an ominous rhythm that set every officer on edge.
That morning, a statement from the Public Relations Officer at Force Headquarters had made its rounds, condemning the actions of the police in Deji’s case and promising Nigerians a thorough, transparent inquiry. “Every individual involved will be brought to book,” the statement had declared. Now, the presence of these high-level investigators signaled that this wasn’t just another press release; they were here to follow through.
Inside the station, officers glanced at each other nervously, uncertain of what would come next. CSP Adebayo, the DPO, shifted anxiously, sweat forming on his brow as he caught sight of the Abuja team. He had hoped they’d approach him first, giving him a chance to frame the narrative. But they bypassed him entirely, moving straight to the junior officers instead, those whose faces had been caught on video during Deji’s arrest. Each was questioned in turn, their discomfort evident as their stories began to diverge under the scrutiny.
Sergeant Femi, watching the scene from his desk, felt his heart pound. He had been waiting for this moment, a strange blend of satisfaction and anxiety tightening his chest. From the very start of this case, he had worked in the shadows, gathering evidence and covertly aligning himself with Deji’s cause. His role in exposing Bala’s web of corruption had been a dangerous game, one he’d played with utmost secrecy. He had told Deji from the beginning—no names. His involvement had to remain anonymous; if Bala or Adebayo ever uncovered the truth, the blowback would be inevitable.
The inquiry grew even more intense when Deji’s poisoning was brought up. Officers were called in one by one, each questioned behind closed doors. When it was CSP Adebayo’s turn, he entered the room looking visibly uncomfortable. The investigator’s voice was calm but firm, pressing him on how such a serious incident could have taken place under his watch. Adebayo hesitated, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he struggled to answer.
Other officers were questioned just as closely. Some fidgeted, others avoided eye contact, all of them hoping their silence would deflect any suspicion. Alone in the room, none of them seemed willing or able to give a clear account of what had happened that evening in Deji’s cell.
When Sergeant Femi was called in, he entered with steady composure. Unlike the others, he showed no signs of nervousness. His responses were careful and measured, revealing just enough to satisfy the investigators while keeping his deeper involvement hidden. He knew that his connection to this case ran deeper than anyone in that room realized, and he intended to keep it that way.
---
As the sky darkened, Bala felt his world collapsing. He had barely eaten, barely moved from the spot he’d been since morning. Each phone call he’d made had been a dead end. The people he’d once counted as allies, as partners, had turned their backs on him.
It was 7:30 p.m. when his phone rang again. This time, a message followed with a simple instruction: Join the Zoom call. ID sent to your WhatsApp.
His heart sank. He didn’t need to ask who it was. The dread coiling in his stomach told him everything. He clicked the link, and a series of grim faces appeared on his screen, political heavyweights, men who once hailed him as an asset.
Before he could speak, one of them leaned forward, his face lit only by the glow of the screen. “Bala, your greed has finally caught up with you.”
Bala swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. “Please… I made mistakes, yes, but I can fix this. Just give me time.”
Another voice, cold and cutting, interrupted him. “Mistakes? You’ve been taking us for fools. You pocketed millions, left projects half-finished, and now the people are out for blood.”
Bala’s pleas grew frantic. “I’ll return it. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t—don’t cut me off like this.”
A third face, a man with a cruel smile, leaned closer to the camera. “Your confession is noted, and it’s about time. We could have buried this for you, but we wanted you to see firsthand the chaos you’ve caused.”
As Bala stammered, another man sneered. “You think you can betray us and walk away untouched? You wanted your share of the money, now you’ll shoulder the blame.”
Bala’s desperation turned to fury. “You needed me. I was the one who got things done!”
“Not anymore,” came the final reply, as they looked at him, unmoved. “You’ve outlived your usefulness.”
The screen went dark, leaving Bala alone in silence. He heard a faint noise from the hallway, footsteps shuffling just outside the door, whispers that sent a chill down his spine. He knew, in that moment, there was no escape from the fate he had crafted with his own hands.
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