CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Problems

The hallway outside the detective's office was no longer a hallway. It was a wall of noise, flashing light, and shouting voices. Camera shutters clicked like insects. Reporters pressed against the glass doors of the station, phones held high, shouting Jidenna's name, shouting my name, shouting Chika's name like they had known us all our lives. Someone in the crowd yelled, "Is it true you killed him because of her?" and the question landed in the small office like a stone thrown through a window. The detective cursed and slammed the blinds shut. "Who called them? This station location wasn't public. Who leaked that you were here?" Jidenna didn't answer. He was already pulling me toward the back exit, his hand locked around mine, his other hand holding his phone to his ear. "Cancel all access codes. Now. Change the gate code. Change the staff entrance. Change everything. No one in or out until I am back inside that compound. Do you understand me? No one." His head of security on the other end was shouting that the press was already gathering at the mansion gates too, that two vans had arrived five minutes ago, that someone had sent them the bedroom photograph. The bedroom photograph. The picture that had started this morning, the picture of us inside our own bedroom taken from outside without our knowledge, the picture that was supposed to be private. It was now on the internet. Someone had made sure of it. "They want us to run," I whispered as we pushed through the back door into the damp, narrow alley behind the station where our car was waiting. The driver had the engine running. The security SUV behind it had its doors open. "If we go to that empty lot, we do exactly what they want. If we stay here, the press will eat us alive. What do we do?" Jidenna looked at me, and for the first time that day his eyes were not hard with anger, they were clear and terrifyingly calm. "We go home," he said. "Chika is at our house. That Polaroid was taken at our front gate at 18:42. That's less than an hour ago. That means whoever took it was inside the compound after we left. Which means either Chika is hiding inside, or the man who has her phone brought her there to make us think she is." The detective followed us out, his jacket half off, his radio crackling with voices saying they could not get a trace on the second phone because it kept bouncing, that the live location pin Chika had sent was fake, a spoofed location generated by an app. "It's a lure," the detective said. "That lot behind the station is empty, we already sent two officers, there's nothing there. They wanted you out in the open." "Then who is inside my house?" Jidenna said. The detective hesitated. "You have twenty-three staff on record in the last seven days. Gardeners, cleaners, cooks, drivers, plus your private security. If someone had access, it has to be one of them. Or someone they let in." Already had access. The words the head of security had said that morning slid back under my skin. We got into the car. The drive back to the mansion was silent except for the sirens far behind us and the frantic notifications buzzing on both our phones. I didn't look. I knew what they were. The photo. Our bedroom. Our private moment turned into a headline. When we turned onto our street, we saw them. Two news vans parked across from our gates. Men with cameras on their shoulders. The mansion that had changed in an instant that morning now looked like a fortress under siege, every light on, every window glowing, the walls seeming to lean inward again. The gates opened before we even stopped. The head of security ran out, his face pale. "Sir, we sealed everything as you said, no one has left, but sir—" "Where is she?" Jidenna cut him off. "Where is Chika?" The man swallowed. "We found her phone, sir. In the staff quarters. Behind the laundry building. It was smashed. The SIM is gone. But we found this." He held up an evidence bag. Inside was a small, cheap burner phone, the kind you buy with cash and throw away. It was still on. On its screen was an unsent draft message: THEY KNOW ABOUT THE CAMERA. GET RID OF IT. GET RID OF HER. My legs went weak. "Her? Get rid of her?" I grabbed Jidenna's arm. "Where is Chika? Is she here?" "We searched everywhere," the security head said quickly. "The main house is empty, the guest house is empty, we checked the CCTV—" He stopped. "Sir, the CCTV went dark for forty-seven minutes. From 18:15 to 19:02. Someone cut the power to the server room. Only someone who knew where it was could do that. Only staff." Jidenna's jaw clenched so hard I saw the muscle jump. "Gather all staff in the living room. Now." The living room of our mansion had never felt so small. Twenty-three people stood against the walls, gardeners in their boots, cleaners holding their uniforms, cooks, drivers, all scared, all whispering, all looking at us like we were the danger. I scanned their faces, looking for guilt, looking for a flicker, but I had known most of these people for years. Then I saw her. Not staff. Sitting on the floor behind the large sofa, half hidden by the curtains, curled into herself, her dress torn at the shoulder, her hair covering her face, shaking. Chika. She was here. She had been here the whole time. "Chika!" I ran to her before anyone could stop me. She flinched when I touched her, then threw her arms around me and sobbed so hard her whole body shook. "He told me not to, he said if I told you he would kill me, he said he would send the pictures—" Jidenna crouched down next to us. "Who? Who told you?" Chika lifted her face. Her lips were cracked, her eyes red. "Your cousin," she whispered. "Emeka." The name struck the room silent. Jidenna went completely still. Emeka, who had been at our wedding, who had asked for money last month, who knew the code to the side gate because Jidenna had given it to him when his mother was sick. Emeka, who had access. Emeka, who had been acting like a friend. "He borrowed my phone," Chika choked out. "He said his died, he needed to make a call to David about a business deal, I didn't know— I didn't know David was— and then David died and he said if anyone found out my number was on David's phone they would think I killed him, he said he would protect me, but then he started taking pictures, he put the camera in the flowerpot, he said you owed him, Jidenna, he said you owed him everything—" Behind us, one of the drivers suddenly broke from the wall and ran for the back door. Security tackled him before he reached it. He screamed, "It wasn't me, it was Emeka, he paid me, he paid me to cut the CCTV, I didn't know about the camera—" The burner phone on the evidence bag buzzed. A new message came through on its cracked screen, from an unknown number. STOP LOOKING FOR THE TRUTH. YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU'RE TRUSTING. And beneath it, a photograph loaded slowly. It was a picture of us right now, in this living room, taken from the hallway. Someone was still inside the house, watching us, at this very moment.