The wind howled low that night, pulling ash from the edge of Victoria Island like a whisper from a forgotten prayer.
Agnes sat in the back of a ride-hailing cab, hoodie drawn over her head, sunglasses on despite the darkness. The city lights streamed past in blurs, and her fingers clutched a photo—an old one of her father and Mr. Akins Goriola, smiling in front of the SMG Conglomerate building. It was one of the few photographs that hadn't been scrubbed from the public record.
She wasn't staring at their faces.
She was staring at the background.
A carved wooden cabinet—antique, hidden in the corner of the image.
She remembered that cabinet.
It used to be in the old study room of the Goriola family estate before it was stripped down and converted into a corporate annex.
That cabinet, she was certain, held more than books.
Tonight, she would find it.
The Goriola estate had been sold, but the building still stood on a quieter part of Victoria Island, now owned by a shell company listed under "Urban Allied Developments." No guards. No security system, just a rusted lock and years of silence.
Agnes slipped through a broken panel in the side gate. Every creak, every gust of wind sounded louder than her heartbeat.
Her flashlight caught the hallway—the paintings were gone, but dust told stories. She knew the floorplan like muscle memory. Every hallway was a map of her childhood visits. Every crack in the wall, every forgotten chair.
Then she found it.
The study.
The cabinet still stood there. Untouched. Carved with lion heads, just like in the photo.
She crouched in front of it, pulling the drawers open, one by one.
Papers. Letters. Business invoices.
Nothing.
Her hands trembled.
She reached behind the bottom drawer and felt something click—a false panel.
It slid free with a dusty hiss.
Inside: an envelope. Sealed. Heavy.
She pulled it out and opened it under her flashlight.
It was the original copy of the will. Not a photocopy. Not a summary. The wax seal of the Goriola crest still intact.
Her name stared back at her in cursive ink:
"All controlling shares, bonds, and properties belonging to Akins Goriola Holdings are to be inherited by AGNES OLUWAKEMI LEWIS, should my son Lami Goriola prove unfit by judgment of character or action."
Beneath it was a handwritten postscript:
"Lami is my son, but he is not my legacy. Agnes, you are the mirror of the man I once trusted with my life. I choose you."
Her breath caught.
She clutched the will to her chest.
Behind her, a board creaked.
She froze.
A faint shadow passed by the hallway.
Agnes turned off her flashlight.
Someone else was here.
At the same hour, Majek crossed the Third Mainland Bridge on foot, his hands in his hoodie pocket, music playing through one earbud. He'd decided to walk home from Idi Araba tonight—an old habit to clear his mind.
But the feeling hadn't left him.
The feeling of being followed.
He turned, subtly.
A black motorbike trailed behind, far too slowly to be random.
Majek ducked under a pedestrian bridge arch and slipped into the side alley beside an abandoned print shop. The footsteps came thirty seconds later.
Too slow for a thief.
Too controlled.
Majek didn't wait.
He stepped from the shadows, grabbed the trailing figure by the collar, and slammed them against the wall.
"Why are you following me?!"
The figure—a young man in his twenties, thin, nervous—raised both hands.
"I was sent! Please—please don't hurt me!"
"By who?"
The man swallowed. "Lami. He said you'd lead him to Agnes. He said if I did this right, I'd get paid enough to leave Lagos."
Majek let go, fury swirling in his gut. "You tell him this—if he touches her again, I won't wait for the law."
The boy nodded, disappearing into the darkness.
Majek stood there, chest rising, throat dry.
Lami wasn't done.
And Majek had just confirmed what he feared—Agnes was already in the storm's center.
Agnes stepped silently back into the hallway of the old estate, the will secured inside her jacket.
She made it to the exit—
Until a voice rang out behind her.
"Looking for something, cousin?"
She froze.
Lami emerged from the shadows behind the staircase, holding a flashlight. His smile was sharp, thin.
"How long have you known?" he asked.
"Long enough to know you were never the answer," Agnes replied coolly.
He clicked off the light and stepped forward. "You think a piece of paper gives you power?"
"I think the truth gives me purpose."
"And what do you plan to do with that will?" he asked, stepping closer. "Give it to Daddy? Give it to the press? Frame me as the villain?"
Agnes didn't move. "I don't need to frame you. You already did that yourself."
Lami's voice dropped. "You know what they say about legacies? They're only as strong as the people who bury the dirt."
He lunged.
Agnes sidestepped, quick and sharp, pushing him backward into the wall. He slipped, just slightly, on the dust-slick floor, enough to give her a head start.
She bolted.
Down the corridor. Out the back exit.
She didn't stop running.
Ten minutes later, she was in a taxi, breathless, the will pressed to her chest.
She called Majek.
"I found it."
"You're okay?" he asked immediately.
"Yes. But Lami was there."
Silence.
"Send me your location," Majek said. "I'm coming."
"No. I need to go somewhere safe. Somewhere off the radar."
"Come to the place we met after my release," he said. "No one will think to look there."
She hesitated.
Then nodded. "Okay."
Lami stood alone in the empty study, staring at the dust-stained floor where Agnes had run. A photo lay beside his foot—the one from the corkboard. Her and Majek.
He bent down, picked it up, and stared.
Behind him, a voice spoke.
"You've lost her."
Lami didn't turn.
Mr. Smith walked slowly into the room, his hands behind his back.
"I warned you what would happen if you let emotions guide you."
"And yet, you're the one who hid the will."
Smith's jaw tightened.
"She's not ready for that kind of power," he said.
Lami chuckled bitterly. "Maybe not. But she's ready to burn us both."
Back in the quiet garden near Lekki, Agnes handed Majek the will.
He didn't read it right away. He looked at her.
"You could've been killed."
"I could've kept lying too," she replied.
He gently took her hand. "We're not powerless anymore."
She nodded.
"But this?" she said, tapping the envelope. "This isn't the end. It's just the key."
Majek smiled faintly. "Then let's find the door."