Chapter 3 - The Empty StallThe yellow keke sat parked beneath the shade of an almond tree on the bustling street corner of Yaba. It was dusty, untouched, and surrounded by silence.
Amara’s roadside food stall was gone.
The wooden tables had been dismantled. The cooking pots were missing. Only a scattering of charcoal ash remained on the pavement where she had once served hot rice and fried plantain to weary workers and a disguised billionaire.
Daniel slammed his hands against the hood of his sports car, his breath catching in his throat.
“Where is she?” he muttered, grabbing a passing street vendor by the shoulder. “Where is Amara? The woman who ran this stall?”
The vendor looked terrified at the sight of Daniel’s expensive clothes and desperate eyes.
“Ah, bros… the family troubles,” the vendor stammered. “Men in black suits came two weeks ago. They harassed her, threw her cooking pots into the gutter, and told her that if she didn't pack up and leave Lagos, they would make sure she never worked again.”
Daniel’s blood turned to ice.
His grandmother.
Beatrice had not only separated them; she had hunted Amara down like an animal.
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Daniel pulled out his burner phone—the one his grandmother didn't know about—and dialed his most trusted private investigator.
“Find her,” Daniel commanded, his voice trembling with a terrifying blend of rage and fear. “Find Amara before I burn my family's empire to the ground.”
