THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM
It brings out your eyes when you’re lying.
My fingers go numb. I stare at the last one. How the hell does he know what tie I picked? I hadn’t even decided until I knotted it.
I shove the phone in my pocket and head out.
The drive to Victoria Island is a blur of okada swerving between cars and hawkers balancing trays of plantain chips. Apex Ventures looms at the end of Ozumba Mbadiwe Avenue,glass and steel stabbing into the sky, the kind of building that screams money and secrets. I badge in at 7:58, nod to security, take the lift to the 14th floor. Open-plan chaos already in motion: analysts shouting over cubicle walls, coffee machines hissing, printers spitting reports.