Semua Bab His Choice Wasn't Me: Bab 181 - Bab 190

Sarah's faint smile lingered for only a second before she leaned slightly forward in her seat, the curiosity in her expression genuine and unhurried."How's the Boko Haram and Fulani herdsmen insurgency cases in Nigeria now," she asked carefully, "and the political uproars?"The driver's cheerful expression faded almost immediately, with the quiet deflation of a man returning from a lighter place to the one he actually lives in."Ah, Ms. Williams," he said, shaking his head slowly, the warmth in his voice replaced by something older and heavier. "Those cases in Nigeria are like incurable cancers that have eaten too deep in the heart of our country."His voice had changed entirely. The humor that had carried the first half of the drive was gone, packed away without ceremony.He glanced out of his window as they drove past a busy junction. Then returned his gaze to the road ahead."Just yesterday," he continued quietly, "a group of gunmen believed to be Lakurawa invaded a mosque at Maiy

At exactly 10:02 a.m., Sarah sat at the round mahogany conference table inside the Edochie Group headquarters in Abuja. The room was spacious, modern, and tastefully furnished.From a distance, Abuja looked calm, orderly, almost peaceful.Inside the room, however, tension lingered beneath polished professionalism.Magnus Edochie, Founder and President of the Edochie Group, sat at the head of the table. His presence carried authority without theatrics. He was a man used to leading rooms, used to closing deals.“Ms. Williams,” he began warmly, folding his hands on the table, “let me once again welcome you to Abuja and to the Edochie Group. Despite the recent disturbances in the city, your decision to honor this meeting speaks volumes about your integrity.”Sarah gave a slight nod. “Thank you, Mr. Edochie.”He gestured toward the large screen behind him. A presentation appeared—charts, projections, strategic maps.“As discussed previously,” Magnus continued, “our proposal centers on esta

Sarah understood the full weight of the decision she had just made in that conference room.Accepting the contract with the Edochie Group, despite the obvious risks, despite the limited immediate financial advantages, despite the persistent climate of insecurity hanging over the country like a storm cloud that refused to pass, had not been a purely business decision. It had never been about business.Not really. Not today.It was a protective move. A strategic one.She refused to imagine how her own board members back in New York would see this decision. Decision abruptly taken… out of duress.She understood with cold clarity that aligning herself with a powerful Nigerian conglomerate could grant her something no wire transfer or board meeting ever could; access, influence, and immediate local leverage.Things she did not simply want. Things she desperately needed, now that her son was somewhere in this city, possibly in the hands of people who did not care whether he lived or died.Y

Mr. Bulus stood a few meters away from the building, staring at what used to be a proud structure.Now, it was a wounded giant. The front entrance had been sealed off with yellow police tape and heavy barricades.Officers stood in front, firm and alert, preventing desperate relatives and curious onlookers from forcing their way inside.The smell of smoke hung thick in the air. Concrete dust floated around like mist. Sirens echoed from different directions, creating a sharp, restless sound that refused to let anyone think clearly.“Mr. Bulus!”He turned sharply at the sound of his name.Sarah was running toward him.Her hair was slightly disheveled, her breathing uneven, her eyes wide with terror. She looked nothing like the composed businesswoman the world knew. Fear had stripped her of every layer of control.“Where is my son?” she demanded immediately, grabbing his arm before he could even greet her.“Madam, please—” he began, trying to steady his voice.“Where is Daniel?” she asked

The intelligence briefing was held in a secure conference room inside a government facility in Abuja. The windows were tinted, the doors guarded, and every phone had been surrendered before entry.Around the table sat top-ranking officials from the Department of State Services, military intelligence, and the Inspector General’s office. Sarah sat at the far end, flanked by Magnus and two armed security men.The atmosphere was not emotional. It was cold. Strategic. Calculated.A projector hummed softly as a senior intelligence officer stood before the screen.“Ms. Williams,” he began, his tone firm and professional, “what we are about to share does not leave this room.”Sarah did not blink. “Just tell me where my son is.”The officer nodded slightly and clicked to the first slide. A symbol appeared on the screen, a black dagger piercing through a red circle.“This group calls itself The Black Dagger Front,” he said. “They resurfaced six months ago after years of silence.”Magnus leaned