The call came at dawn.
Not Musa.
A number Leo didn't recognize.
He stared at the screen until it stopped ringing. Then it rang again, insistently, like whoever was on the other end already knew he'd hesitate.
"Hello?" Leo said finally, his voice rough from a night without sleep.
"Mr. Adebayo," the man said smoothly. "This is Mr. Kola. We need to talk."
Leo sat up. "About what?"
"About the noise around your business," Kola replied. "And how to make it stop."
Silence stretched between them.
"Meet me at the Civic Centre café by nine," Kola added. "This isn't something we discuss over the phone."
The line went dead.
By the time Leo arrived, the café was already half full. Morning light spilled through the glass walls, bright and unforgiving. Kola sat alone near the window, dressed in a neat grey kaftan, a leather folder resting on the table like it belonged there.
He smiled when he saw Leo. The smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Sit," Kola said.
Leo did.
Kola ordered coffee for both of them without asking. That irritated Leo more than it should have.
"You've been busy," Kola said lightly, tapping his phone. "Online chatter. Police visits. Bloggers sniffing around."
"I don't know who you are," Leo said, keeping his tone neutral, "or why you're involved."
Kola chuckled. "You know people who know people. That's enough."
The waiter arrived with the coffee. Kola waited until he left before opening the folder.
Inside were printed screenshots.
The post.
The comments.
Photos Leo hadn't seen yet — his garage from angles that made it look secretive, illicit.
And then bank documents.
Leo's breath caught.
"How did you get those?" he asked.
Kola leaned back. "Because when the world decides to look at you, they don't blink."
"What do you want?" Leo asked again, more sharply.
Kola folded his hands. "To help you."
"By threatening me?"
"By offering clarity," Kola corrected. "You're standing in the middle of a story that's already been written without your consent. You can either let it run… or you can steer it."
Leo laughed humorlessly. "And you're the steering wheel?"
"I'm the exit ramp," Kola said calmly.
He slid one document across the table.
A proposal.
Leo scanned it, his chest tightening with every line.
Public restructuring.
A silent partner stepping in.
Certain transactions absorbed.
Certain inquiries… redirected.
In return, Leo would sign over a percentage of the business. Control, in all the ways that mattered.
"This is a takeover," Leo said flatly.
Kola shook his head. "This is survival."
"I built this place," Leo snapped. "From nothing."
"And you'll keep it," Kola replied. "In name. In face. In pride."
Leo pushed the paper back. "I'm not interested."
Kola didn't look surprised.
"Let me tell you how the next three weeks go if you walk away," he said calmly. "The blogger escalates. A bigger outlet picks it up. The police open a formal inquiry. Your accounts remain frozen 'temporarily.' Customers disappear quietly. Workers start looking elsewhere."
He leaned forward slightly. "You bleed out slowly. Respectably."
Leo's jaw tightened. "You sound rehearsed."
"I am," Kola said. "I've watched this play out before."
"And if I sign?" Leo asked.
Kola smiled. "The story changes. You become the hardworking entrepreneur targeted unfairly. Community voices defend you. The noise fades. Your business stabilizes."
"And the price?" Leo asked.
Kola tapped the document. "Control you didn't realize you'd already lost."
Leo stood abruptly. Chairs scraped nearby as a few people glanced over.
"I won't do this," Leo said. "I'll fix my mess myself."
Kola remained seated, unfazed. "You already tried that."
Leo turned to leave.
"Mr. Adebayo," Kola called softly.
Leo paused.
"Musa won't save you," Kola added. "He already saved himself."
The words landed like a blow.
Leo walked out without responding, his chest pounding.
Outside, Lagos moved on — buses honking, vendors shouting, life indifferent to his crisis. He drove aimlessly for nearly an hour before ending up at the garage.
Kunle was waiting.
"They came again," Kunle said quietly.
"Who?"
"The police. With papers this time."
Leo felt his knees weaken.
"They say they'll return tomorrow."
Leo locked himself in the office.
He called Musa. Straight to voicemail.
Again. And again.
No answer.
He stared at the contract on his desk — Kola must have slipped a copy into his bag somehow.
That night, Sophia came by unannounced.
"You didn't answer my calls," she said.
"I'm busy," Leo replied, too sharply.
She studied his face. "You're scared."
"I'm handling it."
"Alone?" she asked.
He didn't respond.
Sophia sighed. "Leo, you don't always have to prove you're strong."
"I do," he said quietly. "Because nobody else will."
She reached for his hand. He pulled away.
"I need time," he said.
Her eyes softened, then hardened. "Time is what you don't have."
After she left, Leo sat in the dark, contract open in front of him.
Pride whispered: Don't sign.
Fear whispered louder: Don't lose everything.
At 2:13 a.m., his phone buzzed.
A message from Kola.
Tomorrow, 10 a.m. Last chance.
Leo closed his eyes.
He thought of the boy he'd been — grease-stained hands, borrowed tools, dreams bigger than fear.
He thought of the man he was becoming.
Morning came too fast.
By 9:45 a.m., Leo stood outside the café again.
He told himself he was only listening.
Nothing more.
When he sat across from Kola, the man slid a pen across the table.
"No pressure," Kola said pleasantly. "But understand — some doors only open once."
Leo stared at the pen.
The world had narrowed to a single decision.
Sign — and live with the consequences.
Refuse — and let the fire consume everything he'd built.
His hand trembled as he picked it up.