Tunde leaned forward. "The agreement would protect your husband from continued reputational damage." Nkiru nodded slowly. "A corrected reference helps him. Money helps us. But the way this is written, the company can say whatever it wishes while he must remain silent about the procedure he breached and the crime he didn't commit." Janet looked at her client. "There's room to negotiate," she said. Tobi's expression tightened. "We need the money," he whispered. Nkiru turned toward him. "I know. That's why I won't tell you what to choose. But you should know what they're buying."
They left without signing. On the way home, Tobi said she was demanding an impossible standard from a company that had finally offered to help. Nkiru stopped beneath the covered entrance of a shop as rain began to fall. "You think I don't know what this money means?" she asked. "I counted coins for bus fare this morning. I haven't bought a new pair of shoes in two years. I am tired, too." Tobi looked away. She continued, "But peace built on another edited version of the truth is what brought us here. If you decide to sign, make it your decision, with Janet's advice. Don't hide the decision from me and call it protection."
His phone rang before he could answer. It was Temi. He let the call go unanswered, but Nkiru saw the name. For a moment, the look they exchanged contained all the difficulty of their marriage. Nothing had to be said. Tobi turned the phone face down and whispered, "I'm trying." She nodded. "Then don't make me carry the trying for both of us."
Remi Balogun was also learning that expensive clothes could not shield a person from consequence. Her video mocking the restaurant incident had attracted thousands of comments, many of them defending Nkiru and the elderly customer. Some viewers identified Chief Folarin Akinwale from an old photograph of a business award ceremony. Remi had not known the identity of the man she'd insulted, and when it became public she attempted to post a breezy apology about a misunderstanding. The reaction grew worse. Her investors began asking whether her public conduct reflected how she managed staff and suppliers.
At home, Kunle told her she had embarrassed the family. Remi stared at him. "You told me Meridian was our place. You said people there knew how to look after us." He slammed his glass onto the table. "Being recognized doesn't mean humiliating the chairman in front of half the city." Remi felt the hypocrisy, although she wasn't yet brave enough to name it. Her father's objection wasn't to the insult. It was to the target. If the stranger had been poor, anonymous, and powerless, Kunle would likely have considered the evening an inconvenience easily forgotten.
As auditors began requesting documents connected to her investment company, Remi grew frightened. She had accepted an eleven-million-naira investment routed through a vehicle arranged by her father and described to her as legitimate family-backed capital. She had signed the subscription agreement, spent some of the money on inventory, and never asked the underlying