Chapter 1: Three Weeks
Bunmi Adeyanju had twelve thousand, three hundred and forty naira in her account and three weeks to save her mother's shop.
She checked the balance again.
₦12,340.
Still the same.
"Stop checking it."
Bunmi looked up.
Her mother was sitting on the small wooden stool behind the counter, measuring lace with a tape that had gone soft with age. She had been using that stool for eighteen years. The same stool. The same counter. The same shop in Gbagi.
Only the padlock outside was new.
Bunmi glanced toward the entrance.
A heavy silver padlock hung through the gate.
Not theirs.
"Mummy, what did he say?"
Her mother's hands stopped moving.
"Landlord's son said they are coming back by twelve."
"Coming back for what?"
Her mother looked toward the padlock.
"Us."
Bunmi swallowed.
Outside, Gbagi carried on as though nothing had happened. Traders shouted prices. A danfo honked impatiently somewhere beyond the row of shops. Someone was arguing over the price of Ankara.
The world had apparently decided that her mother's shop being taken away was not important enough to stop moving.
"Mummy."
"He said we owe three years."
"I know."
"Two million eight hundred thousand."
"I know."
Her mother lowered her eyes to the lace in her lap.
"And the hospital?"
Bunmi didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
₦450,000.
That was the bill for her mother's eyes.
Two million eight hundred thousand for the shop.
Four hundred and fifty thousand for the hospital.
Twelve thousand, three hundred and forty in her account.
Bunmi had done the mathematics so many times that the numbers had stopped looking like money.
They looked like a joke.
She slipped her phone into her pocket.
"We'll figure it out."
Her mother smiled.
It was the kind of smile mothers gave when they knew their children were lying but loved them too much to expose them.
"God will help us."
"Amen."
Bunmi turned away before her mother could see her face.
She hated that sentence.
Not because it wasn't true.
Because lately, it was the only plan anyone had.
---
At eleven forty-five, three black SUVs turned into the narrow road outside the shop.
Bunmi noticed because everyone noticed.
Gbagi was used to expensive cars passing through.
Three identical black SUVs moving slowly down a crowded street was something else.
People came out of their shops.
A mechanic wiped his hands on a rag.
Two teenage boys stopped their argument.
Iya Kudirat from the next shop leaned halfway into the street.
"Who be that?"
Bunmi didn't know.
Neither did her mother.
The first SUV stopped.
Then the second.
Then the third.
A man stepped out of the middle one.
Tall.
Dark.
Expensively dressed.
He wore a charcoal suit without a tie, sunglasses despite the fact that the sun had disappeared behind a layer of clouds. He looked completely wrong against the peeling walls, rusted roofs and piles of goods stacked along the roadside.
He looked like someone who had taken a wrong turn.
Then he looked directly at Bunmi's shop.
Bunmi frowned.
The man started walking toward her.
"Good afternoon," she said cautiously.
He didn't answer.
He walked straight past her.
Bunmi blinked.
"Excuse me?"
He stopped.
There were voices behind him now.
Several men.
Phones were raised.
Someone called his name.
The man's jaw tightened.
Then he turned back to Bunmi.
"I need to not be seen."
She stared at him.
"Then you're in the wrong place."
His eyes moved around the shop.
"Do you have a back exit?"
"No."
He looked at her.
Bunmi folded her arms.
"You entered my shop without greeting me, asked for an exit that doesn't exist, and now you're looking at me like I designed the building."
For the first time, something changed in his expression.
Not a smile.
Almost one.
"Then sell me something."
"What?"
"Anything."
He reached for the nearest thing on the shelf.
A tin of Milo.
He held it up.
"This."
Bunmi stared at the tin.
Then at him.
"You want Milo?"
"I'm buying it."
"How much?"
He looked at the price sticker.
"How much?"
Bunmi glanced through the doorway.
The men outside were getting closer.
She looked back at the stranger.
"Three thousand."
His eyebrows lifted.
"For Milo?"
"For Milo."
"It says eight hundred."
"The price has changed."
"When?"
"Just now."
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Neither moved.
Then he reached into his pocket, brought out his wallet and placed four thousand naira on the counter.
"Keep the change."
Bunmi picked up the money.
"You don't want your Milo?"
"No."
"Then why did you buy it?"
He looked toward the doorway.
"I needed an excuse."
"To hide in my shop?"
"Yes."
Bunmi looked at the four thousand in her hand.
Then at him.
"Next time, just say please."
"I'll remember that."
He turned.
"Wait."
He stopped.
Bunmi pointed at the money.
"You overpaid."
"Keep it."
"For the Milo?"
"For the inconvenience."
She narrowed her eyes.
"I didn't ask for the inconvenience."
"I noticed."
And then he disappeared through the back of the shop.
Bunmi stared after him.
She had never seen a man move so quickly in expensive shoes.
Outside, the three SUVs pulled away minutes later.
The crowd dispersed.
The street returned to normal.
Bunmi looked down at the four thousand naira sitting on the counter.
Then at the tin of Milo in her hand.
Her mother finally spoke.
"Who was that?"
"I don't know."
"You allowed him to enter the shop?"
"He bought Milo."
Her mother looked at the tin.
"He didn't take the Milo."
"I know."
"Then what did he buy?"
Bunmi looked at the money.
She sighed.
"Apparently, peace of mind."
---
That night, Kemi called.
Bunmi was sitting on the floor beside her mother's bed, sorting receipts.
"You won't believe what happened today."
"Try me."
"A strange man came into the shop."
"Handsome?"
"I didn't say that."
"So he's handsome."
"I didn't say that either."
"You didn't have to."
Bunmi rolled her eyes.
"He bought Milo for four thousand naira."
There was silence.
Then Kemi screamed.
"What?"
"Why are you shouting?"
"Who bought Milo?"
"I don't know."
"Bunmi."
"What?"
"Describe him."
Bunmi thought about it.
"Thirty-something. Tall. Rich-looking. Annoying."
"That is not a description."
"Dark. Beard. Suit."
"Did he have security?"
Bunmi paused.
"Three SUVs."
Another silence.
Kemi's voice dropped.
"Bunmi."
"What?"
"Did he look like Tobi Coker?"
"Who?"
"Don't joke."
"I'm not joking."
Kemi sat up on the other end.
"Tobi Coker. Coker Mining. His father died two months ago."
Bunmi frowned.
"The mining man?"
"Yes."
"I thought he lived in Lagos."
"He does."
"So?"
"So nobody has seen him properly in almost two years."
Bunmi looked toward the shop's closed door.
The man's face came back to her.
The sunglasses.
The expensive suit.
The way he'd looked at the crowd outside like being recognized was the last thing he wanted.
Kemi continued.
"People say he's worth billions."
"Billion?"
"With a B."
Bunmi laughed.
"Then why was he hiding in my shop?"
"I don't know."
She looked at the four thousand naira on the table.
"Maybe billionaires like Milo."
Kemi laughed.
Then her voice changed.
"Bunmi."
"Hmm?"
"Don't spend that four thousand."
"Why?"
"Keep it."
"For what?"
"I don't know. It just feels like the beginning of something."
Bunmi snorted.
"Everything feels like the beginning of something to you."
"Because it usually is."
They laughed.
Bunmi ended the call and went back to counting receipts.
By midnight, she'd forgotten about Tobi Coker.
Almost.
---
Six days later, a man in a navy suit walked into the shop.
He was older than Tobi.
Maybe forty.
He carried a leather briefcase.
"Bunmi Adeyanju?"
She looked up.
"Yes."
"My name is Fola."
He placed a business card on the counter.
FOLA ADEBAYO
Executive Assistant, Adinoyi Mining Group
Bunmi stared at the card.
Then at him.
"Is this about the Milo?"
Fola blinked.
"The what?"
"Nothing."
He opened his briefcase.
"I have a proposal from Chief Tobi Coker."
Bunmi's smile disappeared.
She knew that name now.
"Tobi Coker?"
"Yes."
"What does he want?"
Fola took out a document.
"Your time."
Bunmi didn't touch it.
"How much?"
Fola paused.
"Ten million naira."
The shop went silent.
Even the noise outside seemed to disappear for a second.
Bunmi looked at him.
Then at the document.
Then back at him.
"For what?"
Fola slid the contract toward her.
"Marriage."
Bunmi laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes when life became too ridiculous, laughter was the only thing left.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
"Ten million naira?"
"Yes."
"For ninety days."
Her laughter stopped.
"Ninety days?"
Fola nodded.
"After that, the marriage ends."
Bunmi stared at the contract.
Ten million naira.
Her mother's shop.
Her mother's hospital bill.
Her own dreams.
Everything she had been calculating for weeks suddenly had a number attached to it.
A number she could actually reach.
She swallowed.
"Why me?"
Fola looked at her for a moment.
"Chief Coker specifically requested you."
Bunmi's stomach tightened.
"Why?"
Fola closed the briefcase.
"That's something you'll have to ask him."
He stood.
"I'll give you twenty-four hours."
