Novel-novel oleh Mike

6:02pm. Hayes Corp Tower, 41st floor. Glass. Steel. Silence. The boardroom was full. Twelve chairs. Twelve faces. All of them looking at the door. At the head of the table: Joseph. No, James. Suit tailored. Hair slicked back. No orange. No cuffs. He looked like he belonged there. Because he did. “Mr. Hayes,” the chairwoman said. Her voice shook. “You said you had the majority shares.”“I do,” James said. He smiled. “And I have the heir.”The doors opened. Elma walked in first. Nathan behind her. One step back. Doctor. Bodyguard. Heir. Every head turned. Elma didn’t look at James. She looked at the table. “Miss Okonkwo,” the chairwoman stood. “We were told you were... missing.”“I was,” Elma said. “Held. Threatened. My aunt’s assets frozen. My name used to commit fraud.” She dropped a folder on the table. Bank transfers. Photos. The guard’s confession. All from the USB. “James Hayes. Faked his death 9 years ago. Married my aunt under a false name. Used her to access Ha

The footprints didn’t go far. Destiny followed them to the tree line. Stopped. “She didn’t come back out.” “Or she did,” Nathan said. He was crouched by the window, checking the frame. “And she’s still here.” Marian sat on the floor, the note crushed in her fist. “Joseph’s wife. Your aunt.” She looked up at Elma. “I married him. I let him into this family.”Elma didn’t look at her. She was staring at the Nokia. Dead. Black screen. But it was warm. “It’s been on,” she said. “Recently.”Nathan moved next to her. Doctor first, heir second. “Let me see.” He took it. Turned it over. The back cover came off easy. Too easy. Inside: No SIM card. No battery. Instead: a smaller USB chip. And a folded note. `Batteries are for people who wait. -J`“Charging port,” Nathan said. He pulled a power bank from his medical kit. Always carried one. Doctor habit. “Hayes Corp standard. We used these for field staff.” He plugged it in. The Nokia screen flickered. *1%... 2%...* Destiny stood by

“Keys,” Nathan said. No one argued. Destiny was already at the door, pistol low. She checked the peephole. Empty porch. Empty street. The officers were gone from the gate. “Where are they?” she said. Nathan’s radio crackled. Static. Then nothing. “They’re not answering.” Elma’s stomach dropped. “Joseph—”“Don’t say his name,” Destiny snapped. She threw the door open. Two officers lay on the grass by the gate. Breathing. Unconscious. No blood. No signs of a fight. Just down. “Gas,” Nathan said. He’d seen it before. “Tasteless. Fast.” He kicked the gate. It swung open. The car was still there. Nathan’s SUV. Untouched. “Move,” he ordered. They ran. Marian in the middle. Elma behind her. Destiny covering the rear. Elma didn’t look at the house. She didn’t look at the broken window. She didn’t look at the black box on the floor. She just ran. *In the car:* Nathan floored it. Tires screamed on the gravel. Destiny was in the passenger seat, eyes on the mirrors. “We’re clean

Elma didn’t breathe. Her hand was still on the door handle. Cold metal under her palm. *Three taps.* *No one there.* *Just her name on an envelope.*Destiny was already moving. She stepped in front of Elma, one hand out. “Step back.”Marian was on her feet now. No blanket. No hiding. “What is it?”Elma didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She just held up the photo. Marian saw it. Age 17. Asleep. Vulnerable. And on the back: `I’ve been watching you longer than you think. -J`Marian made a sound. Not a gasp. Not a cry. Like the air got punched out of her. “He... he was there?”Destiny took the envelope from Elma. Checked inside. Empty. No prints she could see. No other paper. Just the photo and the threat. She shut the door. Locked it again. Click. Click. Click. “Phones,” Destiny said. Her voice was flat. Cop voice. “All of them. Now.”Nathan was still on his call outside. She opened the door a crack. “Nathan. Inside. Now.”He came fast. Saw the photo in Destiny’s hand. His jaw set. “

The phone kept ringing. Elma stared at it. `Enugu Custodial Centre` That’s all the screen said. No name. Just the prison. Marian was asleep on the couch, breathing soft. Destiny had her head tipped back in the chair, mouth open a little. Everyone was safe. For now. The phone rang again. Elma’s thumb hovered over `Decline`. If she answered, Joseph won. If she didn’t, he’d find another way to reach her. The third ring. She answered. “Hello?” Her voice was steady. She didn’t know how. Click. Silence. Then a voice. Not Joseph’s. Official. Tired. “This is Sergeant Uche, Enugu Custodial Centre. We have an inmate requesting to speak with Elma Okonkwo. He says it’s urgent family business. Do you consent to the call?” Elma’s stomach dropped. “He’s in custody. He can’t just—” “He can request,” Sergeant Uche said. “You can refuse. But he will keep requesting. We’re required to ask you each time.” Elma looked at Marian. At Destiny. “No,” she said. “I don’t consent.” “U

`We know where your aunt lives. -J` Elma froze. The phone felt heavy. Cold. Like Joseph’s hand was still on it. Destiny saw her face change. “What?” Elma didn’t answer. She just turned the screen around. Destiny read it. Once. Twice. Her jaw locked. “From prison?” Elma nodded. Nathan was still outside. She could see his shadow through the curtain. Patrolling. Watching. She should tell him. That’s what the card on the table said. `Emergency. Tea. When you’re ready.` But her thumb hovered over his number and didn’t press. Because if she told him, Marian would be pulled in. Questioned. Maybe arrested as an accomplice. After 5 minutes of truth on the kitchen step. And if she didn’t tell him… `We know where your aunt lives.` Marian walked home alone 10 minutes ago. Elma stood up. Fast. “We have to—” Her phone buzzed again. Another text. Same number. `Don’t tell the officer. This stays family. Or she pays. -J` Family. The word tasted like blood. Destiny grabbed El