Chapter 2 - The Wooden BoxThe mahogany box rested on the small glass coffee table of our apartment, its brass latch gleaming under the soft amber light of the floor lamp.
Outside, the Lagos night was heavy with the distant hum of traffic along the Lekki-Epe Expressway, but inside, the air felt suspended, charged with a strange, historic gravity.
Daniel stood by the full-length window, his broad shoulders tense beneath his black mourning suit, staring out into the dark Atlantic horizon. The grief of losing his mother was still fresh, but the poison injected by his Uncle Victor and Vanessa Cole at the funeral reception had added a bitter, volatile edge to his exhaustion.
“Kaima,” Daniel murmured, not turning around. “You don’t have to open it tonight. If Victor and the board are already mobilizing legal maneuvers to challenge the marital trust, we should let my lawyers handle the paperwork.”
“Your lawyers, Daniel, work for Okafor Development,” I replied softly, running my thumb over the carved wooden lid. “And as your uncle made abundantly clear today, half the board answers to him, not to you.”
I lifted the latch. It gave way with a quiet, satisfying click.
Inside lay a neatly folded stack of heavy linen stationery, several bank statements bearing offshore letterheads from the Cayman Islands, a sleek black USB flash drive, and a single, handwritten note resting on top.
I picked up the note. Grace’s handwriting was shaky, written during her final days in the hospital, but every word was razor-sharp:
May you like
Kaima, if Victor attacks you immediately, it means he is terrified you will discover why I chose you. He didn't just steal from the company. He built his entire fortune on the blood of your family.
My breath hitched in my throat. The quiet room suddenly felt as though it was spinning.
