The conference room felt smaller than it was.
Files were spread across the long table, papers overlapping, figures circled in red ink. Someone had turned the air conditioner too low, but the tension made the room warm anyway.
David sat at the head of the table, jacket off, sleeves rolled once. He hadn’t said much since everyone filed in, but his silence was doing the work. Eyes sharp. Pen resting between his fingers, unmoving.
“So,” he said finally, voice calm but clipped, “why is a delivery meant to arrive tomorrow still stuck in argument today?”
The head of Accounts cleared his throat. “Sir, the figures from the supplier don’t align with our payment schedule. There’s a discrepancy—” “How big?” David asked. “Large enough to halt production if we don’t resolve it by the end of day.”
Production spoke next, already defensive. “We followed the approved estimate. The issue didn’t start with us.” Accounts snapped back. “Your department approved a variation without full documentation.”
David raised a hand. Silence fell instantly. One by one, he turned to them, measuring each answer, until it became clear: nobody had flagged the issue before it became urgent.
At the far end of the table, Rose sat quietly with a notebook pulled close to her chest. She hadn’t spoken. Her role was junior, support-level, meant to listen and take notes. But she had been calculating for the last ten minutes.
She glanced up, hesitated, then lifted her hand slightly. “Sir… if I may?” A pause. Brief. Uncomfortable. David looked down at the table. “Go on.”
Rose swallowed. “The issue seems to be that both figures are technically correct, just… operating on different assumptions.” Accounts waved a hand. “We’ve already established that.” “Let senior staff handle this,” someone cut in, not unkind but dismissive.
Rose nodded quickly and lowered her hand. The discussion continued, looping, voices rising and falling. David’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Rose’s pen moved faster now. She recalculated, crossed out numbers, rewrote them. This time, she didn’t raise her hand. She spoke.
“If the logistics cost is isolated and split across the next two cycles,” she said, voice steady but quiet, “production won’t stall, and Accounts won’t breach approval limits.”
The room stilled. Someone scoffed lightly. “That’s not how it works.” Rose met the table, not the person. “It can, if it’s treated as a deferred operational expense instead of a supply cost. The supplier still gets paid in full, just not all under one heading.”
Accounts leaned forward. “That would require reclassification.” “Yes,” Rose said, then slid her notebook forward slightly. “I ran the numbers. It keeps us compliant.”
Accounts reached for the notebook, scanning quickly. His expression shifted. “These figures… actually work.” Chairs scraped. Papers moved. The tension cracked open, replaced by focused attention.
David said nothing. He watched. After a moment, Accounts nodded. “This resolves it.” Production exhaled. “We can move forward with this.” David finally spoke. “Implement it.” Just two words.
As everyone gathered their things, Rose quietly pulled her notebook back, heart still racing. She hadn’t meant to interrupt. She’d only wanted the numbers to make sense.
David stood, buttoning his jacket. As he passed her, he paused—not long enough to be obvious. His eyes flicked once to her notebook, then to her face. No smile. No praise. Just a look that lingered a second longer than necessary. Then he moved on. Rose didn’t notice. But David did.
The room was calm in that fragile, evening way—lamps dimmed, curtains half-drawn, the low hum of the generator outside filling the pauses between words. Nosa sat on the edge of the bed, loosening his cufflinks, when Yemi leaned over and straightened his collar like she always did, precise and affectionate.
“You work too much,” she said lightly. “One day, your body will resign before you do.” Nosa smiled, catching her wrist before she could pull away. “Ah. Is that concern I hear? Or a complaint?” “Both,” Yemi replied, amused.
“I’ll be away for a few days,” Nosa said casually. “Abuja. Business.” Yemi hummed, then added, “You should leave with Eric.” The name landed heavier than she intended.
Nosa shook his head almost immediately. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Yemi turned to him, her smile thinning. “Why not?” “It’s not necessary,” he said carefully. “This trip is delicate. I need focus, not—” “Not what?” she cut in. “Not distractions.”
Yemi’s brows lifted. “You’re calling your son a distraction now?” “That’s not what I said.” “But that’s what you meant,” she replied, pulling away slightly. “You keep pushing him aside.”
“Do you even consider Eric a worthy heir?” The question hung between them, sudden and naked. Nosa blinked. “Why would you ask me that?” “Answer it.” “Eric is my son.” “That’s not an answer,” Yemi said.
She leaned in, voice low. “Blood is thicker than anything else, Nosa. Thicker than sentiment. Thicker than guilt. Thicker than… affection.” His eyes darkened. “Is that a threat?” “It’s a reminder,” she said. “Families fall apart when men forget where loyalty begins.”
Nosa stood up, the calm finally cracking. “I haven’t forgotten anything. I love my daughters too. I love Favour. I love all of them. Eric is not the only child I have.”
Yemi laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Stop lying. You love them,” she said, nodding slowly. “Yes. But not equally. And deep down, you know that.”
Before Nosa could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression shifted instantly. “Favour,” he murmured. He answered. “Hey, star girl.”
“Yes, I remember,” he said gently. “I promised. I’m on my way, okay? Get ready.” He ended the call and reached for his jacket. Yemi folded her arms. “So that’s it?” “I told her I’d take her out,” Nosa replied. “Dinner. Just us.”
Yemi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Always running.” He paused at the door, looking back at her. “I’m keeping my word.” “And what about the ones you don’t keep?” she asked quietly.
Nosa didn’t answer. He opened the door and stepped out, leaving the room heavy with things unsaid—and Yemi standing alone, her gaze hard, already calculating what came next.
© Story by Gad-Onojeide Gracious O.