Chapter Thirty-four: The Next Target

Nobody spoke.

The office suddenly felt too small.

Too quiet.

Too exposed.

Amara sat perfectly still, staring at nothing.

Her name.

Of all the names available.

Of all the people connected to the investigation.

Lawson had chosen hers.

Or someone had chosen it for him.

Neither possibility felt comforting.

The assistant shifted uneasily.

"The media hasn't received the full note yet."

A pause.

"But it's already circulating among law enforcement."

Damian's eyes narrowed.

"Who leaked it?"

"I don't know, sir."

The young man looked genuinely frightened.

"The report appeared less than twenty minutes ago."

Damian nodded.

The assistant quietly left.

The door closed.

The room remained frozen.

Tobe was the first to speak.

"This is bad."

Nobody disagreed.

Because it was.

Very bad.

Not because the accusation was believable.

Because belief was irrelevant.

Stories moved faster than facts.

Always had.

Always would.

Amara laughed softly.

The sound surprised everyone.

Including herself.

Not because it was funny.

Because it wasn't.

It was absurd.

Weeks ago, she had been framed as a manipulative student.

Now she was apparently the keeper of hidden financial records.

The lies kept evolving.

Growing.

Adapting.

Like living organisms.

"What happens now?" Zainab asked.

Damian answered immediately.

"They isolate her."

Silence.

Amara looked at him.

He continued.

"They make her appear central."

A pause.

"They make every investigation point toward her."

Another pause.

"And eventually she becomes easier to sacrifice than the truth."

Nobody liked how quickly he said it.

Because it sounded familiar.

Like something he'd seen before.

Amara stood.

Walked slowly toward the window.

The city stretched endlessly beneath her.

For weeks she had been reacting.

Surviving.

Defending.

Explaining.

Maybe that was the problem.

Maybe she had spent too much time allowing other people to define the battlefield.

She turned around.

"What if we stop defending?"

The room looked at her.

Tobe frowned.

"What?"

Amara's eyes settled on the archive documents scattered across the table.

Then on the photograph.

Then on Chidinma's notes.

Finally on Damian.

"What if we attack first?"

Silence.

A dangerous silence.

For the first time all evening—

Damian smiled.

Not warmly.

Not comfortably.

But genuinely.

The expression appeared for only a second.

Then vanished.

Yet everyone saw it.

"Now you're thinking correctly."

Tobe immediately looked worried.

Which was probably the appropriate reaction.

Amara crossed her arms.

"They want me connected to the records."

A pause.

"Fine."

Everyone stared.

She continued.

"Then let's make sure the records become public before they can bury them."

The room went still.

Because she had just proposed the one thing everyone had been avoiding.

Exposure.

Total exposure.

No negotiations.

No leverage.

No private settlements.

No hidden pressure.

Just sunlight.

Damian walked slowly toward the conference table.

Thinking.

Calculating.

The old habit.

"The archive alone isn't enough."

Amara nodded.

"I know."

"The Port Harcourt account is still missing."

"I know."

"We still don't know who inherited the network."

"I know."

The exchange continued like chess moves.

Until finally Damian stopped.

And looked at her.

Really looked at her.

Not as someone he was protecting.

Not as someone caught in the storm.

But as a partner standing inside it.

The distinction mattered.

Then his phone rang.

Everyone froze.

Unknown number.

Again.

The room had learned to fear unknown numbers.

Damian answered.

Silence.

Listening.

Waiting.

Then his expression changed.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Something else.

Something far rarer.

Surprise.

"Where are you?"

A pause.

Another.

Then:

"Stay there."

The call ended.

Immediately.

Amara stepped forward.

"What happened?"

Damian looked at her.

For several seconds he said nothing.

As if deciding whether the answer made sense.

Then:

"Adaeze wants to meet."

The room exploded with reactions.

Tobe stood.

"No."

Zainab looked horrified.

"Absolutely not."

Even Amara frowned.

"Why now?"

Damian's answer came quietly.

"Because Lawson is dead."

Nobody spoke.

Because that answer explained everything.

And nothing.

He slipped the phone into his pocket.

"She says she's ready to tell the truth."

A pause.

Then:

"All of it."

Silence filled the office.

Heavy.

Expectant.

Dangerous.

Because every person in the room understood the same thing.

If Adaeze Bello truly decided to speak—

then the entire structure could collapse.

Not crack.

Not weaken.

Collapse.

Amara looked toward the dark Lagos skyline.

Somewhere out there was a woman carrying years of secrets.

Years of guilt.

Years of fear.

And if Chidinma's recording was right—

a woman who had once been given a choice.

A choice she regretted every day afterward.

Damian picked up his keys.

Decision already made.

"We leave now."

"Why immediately?" Tobe asked.

Damian's eyes hardened.

The answer came without hesitation.

"Because people who decide to tell the truth around Chief Bako..."

A pause.

The room became silent.

Then he finished.

"...usually don't stay alive for very long."

And somewhere across Lagos, Adaeze Bello was waiting.

Perhaps to confess.

Perhaps to betray them.

Perhaps to reveal the one secret that connected Chidinma's death, Damian's father, the missing billions, and Chief Ibrahim Bako.

But whether she lived long enough to tell it—

was another matter entirely.