The alert came in at 6:17 a.m.
Leo was halfway between sleep and waking when his phone vibrated against the thin mattress. He reached for it blindly, irritation already forming — until he saw the number.
₦5,000,000.00
Credit Alert
For a moment, he just stared.
Then he sat up.
The room felt different immediately, as if the air itself had shifted. The ceiling fan still creaked, the walls still bore the faint cracks of age, but something invisible had changed. He read the alert again, slower this time, making sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.
It was real.
His chest loosened. Relief flooded in first — warm, heavy, almost dizzying. After that came something sharper. Pride.
It worked.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, pacing the room with the phone still in his hand. Five million naira. Just like that. No bank meetings. No endless paperwork. No polite rejections masked as "we'll get back to you."
Musa hadn't lied.
That should have comforted him.
Instead, the feeling lingered — not fear exactly, but something like standing on new ground that hadn't settled yet.
Leo pushed it aside.
By noon, the garage buzzed in a way it never had before.
A delivery truck arrived earlier than expected, unloading shiny new equipment that caught the sun and reflected it back like promise. Pressure washers with more power. Proper lifts. Toolkits that still smelled of factory plastic.
The boys gathered around, eyes wide.
"Boss, this one na serious upgrade o," Kunle said, running his hand over a polished machine.
Leo allowed himself a small smile. "Work well. That's all I ask."
Customers noticed too.
Cars that usually passed without slowing down now pulled in, drivers craning their necks, asking questions. A man in a crisp shirt nodded approvingly.
"This place don improve," he said. "You're moving up."
The words sank deep.
For the first time in a long while, Leo didn't feel like he was apologizing for where he stood.
By evening, he was tired — the good kind. The kind that comes with progress.
That was when Musa called.
"Enjoying the upgrade?" Musa asked casually, as if they were old friends.
"It's fine," Leo replied.
Musa chuckled. "Good. I'll need a small favor."
Leo's hand tightened around the phone. "What kind of favor?"
"Nothing serious," Musa said. "One of my associates needs a place to park a car overnight. Just one night."
Leo frowned. "This is a car wash, not storage."
"I know. That's why it's easy. No attention."
Silence stretched between them.
"Is there a problem?" Musa asked lightly.
Leo glanced around the garage — at the new tools, the impressed customers, the boys who looked at him like he'd cracked some secret code.
"No," he said. "Just this once."
"That's the spirit."
The call ended.
That night, the car arrived long after the gates should've been locked.
Black. Tinted windows. Clean to the point of sterility.
The driver didn't say much. Just handed Leo the keys and left.
Leo stood there for a while, staring at the vehicle under the dim security light. He told himself he was overthinking it.
It's temporary.
The next day, another credit alert came.
Smaller this time. Still significant.
Validation has a way of dulling instincts.
The weeks that followed moved fast.
The garage expanded into the adjacent space almost seamlessly, rent paid upfront. Leo found himself speaking to suppliers with confidence he didn't know he possessed. People listened now. Some even deferred.
One afternoon, as he supervised the installation of a new lift, a familiar voice reached him.
"Leo?"
He turned.
Sophia stood at the edge of the garage, eyes scanning the changes. Her expression flickered — surprise, then something like admiration.
"You've really grown," she said.
He nodded. "Work does that."
She smiled, different this time. Softer. Curious.
It wasn't love he felt then. It was something more dangerous.
Recognition.
That night, Kunle lingered after closing.
"Boss," he said hesitantly, "I hear say some people dey ask questions."
Leo stiffened. "Questions about what?"
"About the cars coming late. About who's backing us."
Leo waved it off. "People always talk."
Kunle nodded, unconvinced. "Just… be careful."
Leo didn't respond.
Two days later, Musa showed up in person.
He walked through the garage slowly, inspecting everything like he owned it. Leo noticed the way his presence shifted the atmosphere — workers straightening, conversations lowering.
"You've done well," Musa said. "I like partners who move fast."
Leo wiped his hands on a rag. "You said partnership. This feels like supervision."
Musa smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Success attracts attention. Attention needs management."
"What does that mean?"
"It means sometimes I'll need you to be flexible."
Leo's stomach tightened.
"How flexible?"
Musa met his gaze. "As flexible as someone who wants to stay ahead."
The words echoed long after Musa left.
That night, Leo sat alone in the garage, lights off, the smell of oil and metal heavy around him. He replayed every decision, every moment where he'd told himself it was temporary, harmless, necessary.
He thought of the look on Sophia's face. Of the respect in customers' voices. Of the ease with which money now appeared.
And then he thought of the car with the tinted windows.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Musa.
Tomorrow, we'll need the space again. Longer this time.
Leo stared at the screen.
This wasn't an opportunity anymore.
It was a door that had locked behind him.
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