"Our rent fell behind," she said. "I sold my wedding jewelry. Tobi stopped sleeping. Did you know any of that?"
"I made quiet inquiries. I knew you were struggling."
"Do you understand how insulting the word quiet has become to me? You watched our lives collapse from a safe distance because you believed your family's suffering mattered more."
Tunde did not defend the delay, though he said he had been frightened of creating damage he could not control. Nkiru told him that his fear had not prevented damage; it had determined who was forced to carry it. He promised to provide the investigators with his communications with Kunle, even if the records exposed his own failure to act promptly. She did not praise him for the promise. Accountability was something he owed, not a gift for which the harmed person had to be grateful.
After the meeting, she stood outside headquarters and watched employees passing through the revolving doors. Some wore suits; others carried the tools and supplies necessary to keep the building running. She wondered how many people inside knew that high-level decisions had cost her family its savings, her husband's name, and perhaps the future of their marriage. The company had begun to correct the first injustice, but the machinery that produced it was still being exposed one hidden decision at a time. She returned to work because there were employees waiting for someone to listen to their complaints without first asking whom the complaints might embarrass.
Ronke called three days later and asked Nkiru to meet at a café close to Meridian, somewhere neither family controlled. The young woman's voice was quieter than it had been in the underground car park, but Nkiru could hear the nervous determination behind it. She agreed only because investigators had confirmed that some files supplied by Ronke were authentic and others still required independent verification. The meeting would not be a chance to negotiate forgiveness. Nkiru wanted answers about the messages that had reached her home before anyone publicly admitted the company's hidden history.
Ronke arrived with a paper cup of coffee she barely touched. There was no polished entourage, no photographer, and no expensive handbag displayed on the table like proof of status. She apologized for the incident at table twelve again, then explained that her father had long used family secrets to keep other executives dependent on him. She had seen the resentment grow inside her own home, where Kunle spoke of the Akinwales as people who demanded loyalty while reserving the right to betray anyone beneath them. When his financial arrangements began unraveling, Ronke searched his old files partly because she was afraid of what they might reveal about her own business.
"Were you sending me those messages?" Nkiru asked. "The video, the records, everything?"
"Not everything."
"Which ones?"
"The Abuja footage. And the message that led you to my father's involvement in the finance case."
Nkiru put her cup down. "You used me."
"I gave you information he had kept hidden."
"Anonymously. At moments you chose. You weren't giving me a choice about what happened next."