The Door Marked Red

She woke at 3 a.m. with her father's face in her mind.

The bed was too large and too soft. The curtains breathed in the dark. The silence in the Okafor house was so complete that she could hear the faint tick of the clock in the hall.

Check the transfers.

Ada slipped out of bed and pulled a cardigan over her nightdress. If Damian Okafor wanted a wife who asked the right questions, she would begin at once.

The corridor was lit by thin moonlight through the high windows. She moved barefoot along the carpet, passing the portraits of stern strangers, until she reached the end of the west wing and the staircase that led down.

Down was the study. Down was the office. Down, she hoped, was a computer she could crack.

She turned left at the bottom of the stairs and found herself in an unfamiliar hall.

Wrong turn.

The air here was colder. The carpet gave way to polished wood. And at the end of the corridor, where the walls narrowed, stood a single door of dark oak, banded with iron, a brass lock gleaming in the dimness.

The east wing.

She should have turned back. She knew that. Clause fourteen was perfectly clear.

But something about the door pulled at her, a sense of pressure, like a held breath. She took one step forward. Then another. Her hand lifted toward the handle.

"Don't."

She whirled.

Damian stood at the other end of the corridor in a white shirt and dark trousers, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, his hair disordered as though he had been pushing his hands through it. His eyes were very bright in the dark.

"You were warned," he said.

"I got lost."

"You were not lost."

"Then I was curious."

He crossed the distance between them in four long strides. Before she could step away, he planted one hand on the wall beside her head, caging her without touching her. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint trace of whisky on his breath.

"Rule one, Mrs. Okafor," he said softly. "Not this door."

"What is behind it?"

"Something that doesn't concern you."

"Then why lock it?"

"Because the last person who asked that question," Damian said, "didn't live long enough to regret it."

Ada's breath caught. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a warning."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. His face was inches from hers. She could see the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze flicked, just for a second, to her mouth, and then away.

He's afraid, she thought, with sudden certainty. Not of me. For me.

It made no sense. It made her heart beat harder.

"Go back to bed," he said, and stepped away.

She did not argue. She walked past him with her chin high and her spine rigid, and only when she was safely back in her room with the door locked behind her did she let herself lean against it and breathe.

* * *

Morning arrived grey and humid.

Ada dressed in a navy suit, pinned her hair back, and went down to find Tobi waiting in the hall with a leather folder and a security badge.

"Mrs. Okafor," he said, with a hint of a smile. "Your access card for Okafor Holdings. Mr. Okafor has authorised you for every department except one."

"Which one?"

"Archive. Sub-level three. Anything marked red."

"Of course."

The ride to Victoria Island was silent. Damian sat beside her, typing on his phone, and did not speak. When they arrived, he walked her through the lobby with a hand at the small of her back, the picture of a devoted husband, and for the benefit of every staring employee she leaned into him and smiled.

"Don't overdo it," he muttered.

"I'm not the one who looks like he's attending a funeral."

His mouth twitched. He took his hand away.

The finance department occupied the nineteenth floor. Rows of desks. Glass partitions. A hush of expensive keyboards. A man in his fifties named Mr. Eze led her to a corner office and gave her a laptop, a stack of ledgers, and a look of open suspicion.

"The CEO's wife," he said, "is going to audit us?"

"I am here to consult."

"Of course, ma." He did not sound convinced.

She spent six hours buried in numbers. Operating costs. Subsidiary accounts. Loan agreements. It was dull, slow, careful work, and she loved every minute of it. Numbers did not lie. They only hid.

At 4:17 p.m., she found it.

It was a small thing. A transfer of two hundred million naira, routed through three shell companies and out of an Okafor Holdings account into an offshore holding she did not recognise. The date caught her eye first.

March 3rd.

Three weeks before the audit that had destroyed Bello Freight.

Ada's hands went cold. She scrolled to the authorisation field. Every transfer needed a signature and a code. She clicked the box.

The code appeared.

The signature appeared beneath it, black and bold and unmistakable, the same signature she had watched sign a marriage contract twenty-four hours earlier.

Okafor.

She stopped breathing.

Behind her, the office door opened.

"Find anything interesting?" said Damian.