"There is another item," Ifeoma said, turning to the final page. "Her husband is Tobechukwu Eze."
Tunde looked up. "Former finance division?"
"Yes, sir."
"The forty-two-million-naira case?"
She nodded. "Eight months ago."
The coincidence sat between them like something neither wanted to touch. Tunde remembered the incident because the group had reported an unauthorized vendor payment that appeared to carry Tobi Eze's approval signature. There had been an internal investigation, an ugly dispute over what he had authorized, and a referral to law enforcement that never resulted in the kind of clear public resolution that would have allowed an innocent person to move on. Tobi's employment ended, and colleagues quietly stopped returning his calls. Tunde had accepted a summary prepared by the same finance and legal teams that now sat under suspicion.
"Did she know who my father was?" he asked.
"According to both the young clerk and the video, no."
"Then arrange for her suspension to be withdrawn. Pay her for every scheduled shift she missed, and ask her to come in privately."
Ifeoma hesitated. "Should I prepare a statement about the incident?"
"Not yet. I want to listen before we tell the public what kind of people we are."
Nkiru arrived at headquarters with a copy of her suspension notice in her handbag and the quiet anger of someone who had spent a night preparing not to beg. She wore a simple navy blouse and black skirt, clothes clean and pressed despite the cracked heel of one shoe. The reception area smelled of new carpet and chilled air, and every visitor seemed to be carrying a laptop worth more than her monthly salary. She was directed upstairs and seated outside an executive office until Tunde's assistant appeared. The kindness in Ifeoma's voice made Nkiru suspicious because kindness from important offices had lately come with conditions.
"You asked to see me," she said when Tunde rose from behind his desk.
"Please sit, Mrs. Eze."
"I'd rather stand until I know whether I'm employed."
Tunde accepted the correction without smiling. "Your suspension has been withdrawn. The record will be corrected."
"With my two missed shifts paid?"
"Yes."
"Then thank you."
He waited until she chose a chair for herself, then asked whether she had known his father before that night. Nkiru shook her head and said the man had looked like an ordinary guest who wanted pepper soup, which was why she had seated him where she would have seated anybody with a valid request. Tunde wondered aloud whether recognizing the chairman would have changed her behavior. She answered before he finished the question. "If I had recognized him, would that make what I did less decent?"
"It would make it less useful as evidence of your character," he replied.
"I'm not applying to become anybody's evidence, Mr. Akinwale. I was doing the job your company hired me to do."