Chapter 93: When two irons strike together.
Flora gripped the wheel tighter as her car sped forward, the pressure mounting behind her ribs like a scream waiting for release. The black sedan was still in the rearview mirror-less a car now and more a threat with wheels, following her with a ghostly kind of patience that made her skin crawl.
She couldn't go home. Couldn't turn back. Couldn't even call Scott.
Her mind was in overdrive, scanning for escape, strategy-anything. And then, almost like a stroke of divine luck or desperate genius, her eyes caught something on the digital map flickering on her car's dashboard: a route. Narrow, rarely used, a construction path now abandoned. Hidden in plain sight.
That wasn't all.
Ahead, a few meters to the left of the next turn, was a vehicle moving on the road-an exact duplicate of her car. Same model. Same color. Same make. It didn't even matter whose it was. To Flora, it was a lifeline.
A plan formed in seconds.
She swerved toward the lookalike vehicle, slowing down just long enough to make it seem like she was pulling in for a stop. Her tail, if watching closely, would assume she was getting out, hiding, making a run for it.
But she didn't stop.
Instead, in one fluid motion, she jerked the steering wheel and veered off into the hidden route she had marked moments before.
The black car continued after the decoy, exactly as she hoped.
"Bastards," she whispered under her breath, pulse thundering in her ears as she disappeared down the gravel path, swallowed by concrete dust and overgrown trees.
She didn't stop until she reached a nearly-abandoned carwash hub, tucked behind a line of old buildings. The place looked closed, but one of the workers gave her a lazy wave, assuming she was just a paranoid driver ducking in for cover from Lagos traffic chaos.
She parked beneath the shade, cut the engine, and let herself finally breathe.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Her hands trembled on her lap. Her thoughts spun in circles. But her instincts told her the tail was lost-for now.
When the coast felt clear, she eased back onto the road, taking an alternate route to avoid main intersections. No more surprises. Not tonight.
By the time she reached Firefold Entertainment Company, night had dipped its fingers into the skyline. The building loomed tall and sharp, its security lights blinking like watchful eyes. She pulled into the company's underground garage, parking between two SUVs. No one was around. Just her-and the tightness that never left her chest.
She got out, adjusted her jacket with shaking fingers, and headed for the elevator.
The steel doors closed with a soft hiss. As she ascended, her reflection in the mirrored wall stared back: eyes bloodshot, shoulders stiff, breath uneven.
Ding.
The doors opened at her office floor-and she barely took a step before colliding headfirst into Tesly.
"Flora!" Tesly gasped, eyes wide. Her hands clutched a folder so tight the paper inside had started to wrinkle. She looked like she hadn't sat down for hours.
Flora's breath came out in short, clipped bursts. "Tesly..."
"Where have you been? I called-so many times-I thought something happened."
Flora stepped back slightly, steadying herself against the cold wall.
"Something almost did."
Their eyes locked. No words, just mutual panic vibrating beneath the surface like a held-in scream.
Neither of them knew the full picture yet, but they could both feel it:
Tonight was far from over.
~~~~
Just as the two black SUVs moved in tandem along the tiled road, their engines humming low against the silence of the night, Scott's phone lit up with a call.
Joel, riding shotgun, glanced at the screen before passing the phone over.
"It's Diana Mask," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
Scott took it without hesitation, the muscles in his jaw tightening like a loaded spring. He didn't bother with pleasantries.
"I have no time to waste with you. What do you want?"
His voice was cold. Not angry-no, that would've been too generous. It was the kind of tone reserved for enemies too dangerous to ignore. Deep down, he already suspected she had a hand in this chaos-too many pieces were moving, too many shadows circling his family. And she always had a taste for blood when it was personal.
From the other end of the line, Diana's voice slithered through-crisp and smug.
"Your cousin is with me. I mean, in my abode."
A slow, wicked chuckle followed.
Scott's grip tightened on the phone. His voice dropped even lower.
"What do you want?"
It wasn't a question-it was a threat laced in steel.
But she didn't flinch.
"Come over. I'm sure you know where I am."
Click.
The line went dead.
For a moment, the interior of the SUV stood still. Even the air knew something had shifted.
Scott lowered the phone, handed it back to Joel.
"Find her exact location. Now."
"Yes, sir."
Joel's fingers flew across his device, while Prum kept their eyes on the road ahead. Tension vibrated through the car like static.
Raphael was in the other SUV up ahead, driving Maxson.
Minutes later, Prum veered off the main road, pulling up in front of a place Scott recognized instantly.
Brunceto Elite & Suites.
One of the most exclusive hotels in the city-known for its discretion, opulence, and the kind of guests who didn't want to be found.
Scott turned slightly in his seat, addressing the two men.
"I'll go in alone. Stand by. If I give the signal, come in. Fast."
"Yes, boss," they replied, nearly in unison.
He stepped out into the night, the wind brushing against his jacket as he approached the entrance. The lobby was dimly lit with gold fixtures and velvet-lined furniture, but he didn't stop to admire it. He walked straight to the elevator, straight to the room number Diana had given him-her message clear, her trap clearer.
Room 709.
The hallway smelled like expensive perfume and old secrets. His boots moved silently across the plush carpet. His heartbeat? Not loud. Not fast. Just ready.
He didn't knock.
He opened the door.
And the world... shifted.
No bullets. No guards. No sound.
Just darkness.
An overwhelming, pressing kind of dark-as if the air itself had turned against him. Before he could reach for the weapon tucked beneath his jacket, a force hit him. Silent. Swift. Crippling.
Scott's body hit the floor-hard.
The phone slipped from his grasp and skittered under a nearby chair.
He wasn't unconscious. Not fully. But something had him-paralyzed, disoriented.
Shadows danced at the edge of his vision. A silhouette moved behind the curtain. Another figure lingered near the closet.
He wasn't alone.
But no one spoke. No one emerged.
Just silence and the soft hum of a chandelier above.
Somewhere in the shadows, someone-something-was watching. Waiting.
And Scott?
Scott was down.
The lion had walked into the hyena's lair.
But he wasn't out of the fight yet.
~~~~
Maxson's phone buzzed just before they reached the curve toward the city's eastern bypass.
A text from Scott.
He read it in silence, the glow of the screen lighting up his face for a moment. His brows furrowed.
"Change of plan," he said sharply, sliding the phone into his coat pocket. "Rapheal, take the underground route. Now."
Rapheal didn't ask questions. He simply nodded, swerved left, and slipped into the narrow access road that led beneath the city's expressways. The air down there was cooler, darker. Perfect for disappearing off-grid.
Maxson leaned back, his tone tight. "Big bro said we can't just go charging at Arthur head-on. He's walking into Diana's trap himself-to see what cards she's holding."
A heavy silence settled in the car as he stared ahead, jaw clenched. The dashboard lights flickered across his face, catching the strain in his features.
"But we're not sitting idle. We need to stall Arthur. That bastard dared-dared-to lay hands on my daughter."
His fists clenched in his lap.
The tracking team had found two locations-one linked to Diana Mask, the other to Arthur Silver. Both suspicious. Both dangerous.
He pulled out his phone again and dialed a familiar number.
It rang twice.
Then came a slow, mocking chuckle. "Hehehe... Well, well. Why is my humble brother calling me?" Arthur's voice oozed smugness, the kind that dripped from a man who thought he still held the upper hand. In the background, Maxson could hear the faint clink of crystal against marble-Arthur sipping one of his favorite aged wines at his home bar, no doubt leaning back like a king on a rotten throne.
"I found her already," Maxson said calmly.
There was a pause.
Then Arthur's voice again, casual, curious. "Who?"
"Her."
Maxson left it vague on purpose. Let him squirm. Let the serpent try to guess which trap had been triggered.
Arthur smirked. Maxson could hear it through the line. "Oh? Your daughter... or Diana?"
"Both."
That wiped the smirk clean.
Maxson didn't need to see Arthur to know he'd paused-just for a beat. Long enough to question. To wonder. To feel that first flicker of doubt.
But Arthur was a snake. He recovered too quickly.
"Ha! Kidding, kid bro," he said, followed by a loud, forced laugh. "You almost had me there."
Maxson's voice turned razor-sharp. "You're really courting death, Arthur. A pure one. When it comes for you, no one will weep. No one will even question it."
Another burst of laughter from Arthur. "Then come on, Max. I can't wait to see it. I'll be right here, sipping champagne when it happens."
But Maxson wasn't done.
His voice dropped lower, colder. "What if your mother... was the first one I touched?"
Silence.
Then a shift.
That landed.
It wasn't just an insult. It was a blade. Arthur may have joked and played villain all day, but this-this was personal. His mother had been his sore spot. A line no one crossed.
The air thickened on both ends of the call.
"Watch your mouth," Arthur said, voice dipped in rage, the wine glass set down harder than needed.
"No," Maxson replied, deadly calm. "Watch your steps. And tell your shadows to start counting their days."
The call ended, not with a click, but with a cold silence.
Maxson leaned back in his seat, exhaling long and slow.
Rapheal glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "What next?"
"We give Scott ten minutes," Maxson said. "Then we move."
The car disappeared deeper into the underground, two wolves hunting in the dark. And above ground, the game of blood and betrayal kept ticking toward its next explosion.
~~~~
Flora didn't speak. She just stared-eyes darting over the room, searching for something beyond words. Evidence. Clues. Confirmation that she wasn't imagining how wrong this all felt.
She gently touched her forehead, where she'd bumped into Tesly's. "Sorry," she murmured, then moved past her, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she headed down the hallway toward the project wing.
---
They both stepped into the manager's office. He was pacing, eyes flicking toward the door the moment Flora entered.
"What took you so long? By tomorrow, those documents must be completed. This matter must not get to the head or else..."
"We're doomed for."
Mr. William had taken a quiet liking to Flora, treated her as his favorite. But he couldn't afford to lose his job-or reputation-for anyone.
He sighed deeply and left the office. It was almost closing time.
Most of the staff had gone home.
Flora let out a long breath, but this wasn't the time to break down.
She turned and walked out of the office.
Tesly followed, quiet but close behind.
The corridor lights hummed overhead. Fluorescent and cold. Too bright for how dark everything felt inside.
"I thought I was being followed," Flora finally said, her voice low, as if afraid the walls could hear. "No... I was followed."
Tesly gasped-but caught it halfway, like she was saving it for later. "By who?"
Flora shook her head. "I don't know. But it wasn't random. They were tracking me. I had to fake them out."
They reached the glass door of their department. Flora punched in the code. The door clicked open.
Inside, the office was dim. A few lights left on. Papers scattered across the conference table. A laptop still glowing faintly from sleep mode.
Everything looked normal-but felt wrong.
Flora stepped in first, eyes scanning every corner. Tesly lingered by the door, wide-eyed, mouth slightly parted.
"I didn't touch anything," Tesly whispered. "I waited."
Flora moved to the table. Her gaze settled on the file Tesly had been holding.
"The Crea de' la Technologies documents?" she asked.
Tesly nodded and handed it over. "The originals are gone."
Flora's voice dropped. "What do you mean gone?"
Tesly motioned toward the file cabinet near the wall. Its drawer stood wide open, folders jutting out at odd angles like someone had yanked through them in a hurry.
"I came back to cross-check the codes before sending them to the legal team," she said. "But the folder with the core schematic layouts is missing. Only copies are left. Half of them outdated. A few look tampered with."
Flora's chest tightened.
This wasn't coincidence. Not the tail. Not the timing. Not the files.
Someone was circling them-moving pieces behind the scenes while they scrambled to keep up.
She set the folder down, slow and deliberate. Her eyes met Tesly's.
"We've been compromised."
Tesly blinked. Once. Then again. "Do you think... do you think this has anything to do with-?"
Flora silenced her with a single glance. "Don't say her name."
Jeda.
Even thinking it felt dangerous.
Flora turned back to the table, staring at the scattered documents as if they might spell out who was behind this. And why.
But there were no answers here. Not yet.
Only questions. Danger. Shadows.
And one thing Flora now knew for certain:
Someone wasn't just after their files.
They were after her.
And this was only the beginning.
____
Mareed Duncan was currently the one heading Firefold Entertainment Company. He had been appointed by his elder brother, Mareed Michael.
Flora sat in silence, her shoulders hunched, her thoughts spinning. She felt like a balloon being pulled by too many strings. Every direction tugged at her. Every decision seemed loaded.
In this present crisis, her only hope-her only instinct-was to call her husband before taking any action.
"Tesly, you can go home and get some rest. I really appreciate you. You've done so much today."
Tesly looked at her, concern etched into her features. "Flora, are you sure you can drive in this state?"
"Don't worry about me," Flora said softly. "I'll be fine."
Tesly hesitated.
"When did this incident even happen again?" Flora asked again, voice tinged with confusion.
"The Manager called me to his office about it just before I came to report to you."
"Are the others informed?"
"Not yet," Tesly replied, her voice low, almost defeated.
"Please don't tell them anything yet," Flora said, rubbing her aching temple. "Let me see what I can do first. Please."
Tesly gave a small nod. "Alright. Let's leave together. I didn't bring my car today."
"Hold on a sec."
Flora tried dialing Scott's number. It rang. Once. Twice. Five times. No answer.
Her chest tightened.
Still no word about Baby Jeda. Still no update from the family. It was like being trapped in a room with no air. Her heart throbbed, clustered with fear.
"Alright, let's go," she said quietly to Tesly.
---
A few minutes later, Flora dropped Tesly off at her apartment. Tesly waved goodbye, still looking hesitant to leave her alone.
Flora continued the drive toward Silver Mansion, eyes darting between the road and her thoughts.
She replayed the day's events like a broken reel. The files. The manager's panic. The missing documents. Scott's silence.
Why hadn't he picked up? Why hadn't he called back?
Then, her phone buzzed.
A message. From an unknown numberIt was a message.
Just an address.
Brunceto Elite & Suites, Room 709.
No sender. No explanation. Just those few words-and yet, they screamed louder than any warning siren.
Flora's breath hitched.
Her heart pounded so loud she could hear it over the quiet hum of the car. Without wasting another second, she turned sharply at the next junction, tires screeching faintly as she sped toward the address.
---
Meanwhile, miles away, Maxson was still at the underground facility-uneasy and pacing.
He had tried Scott's line again.
Still no answer.
Frustration gnawed at his nerves, but deeper than that... was fear.
He leaned against the metal table, arms crossed, eyes unfocused. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered under his breath. "Why isn't he picking? What could've happened to my brother?"
He stared at the wall, but he wasn't seeing it. He was seeing shadows. Threats. Questions with no answers.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
And the silence on Scott's end was the loudest red flag of all.