Turban real estate’s head office sits in the heart of Eko. In a tower sited at the elm of the street. On the third floor, in the eyes of the elevators. The windows and the slide doors are made of glass that seemed unbreakable.
My office stretched to a large window with electronic shutters that appeared like I could see the whole world through it .
My secretary’s office perched on my office walls. A small corner with a medium twirling seat, a table, a desktop computer, a telephone, files well arranged and a wooden chair facing her with a couch at the end of the corner. I sat on my presidential seat, seeing the whole of the third floor through the glass windows. My secretary, Andrea, picks a call. She talked inaudibly for a sec and hanged up.
She stretched her neck to glare at my vacant face. I gave her the expression that she shouldn’t dare forward any call. She picked the phone and continued inaudibly. She hanged up and walked straight to my office. She appeared almost appealing in a gantry skinny body but with no brea-st which I find inattractive in a her. “Sir, madam wanted to speak to you,” her lips took the shape of a blow-job expert. I acted like I didn’t understand what she said and wanted her to reiterate. “Sir…” she continued and I stopped her, raising a finger at her. “Why?” I asked quizzically like I didn’t know the reason Mrs Daramola was calling during office hour. “She said its private.” “Set a meeting by 4. I want this whole shi-t ironed.” “With Mrs Daramola?” “No, the new construction company.” Andrea wore a disgusting frown like she was irritated by the whole disregard I have for Mrs Daramola. She gets on my nerves anyway. When Daramola died, the board voted her co-CEO with me; bequeathing all the rights of her late husband to her. She knows nothing about management.
During board sessions, she just sits and beckons the symphathy of whoever was willing to offer it. Not me by the way, Daramola wasn’t a fanstastic partner, is wife is even worst. I have always wanted to be a sole-owner. I could just let her go the way her husband did but its not the appropriate time. Questions had eroded all over and Mrs Daramola has her fervid suspicions too. The police visited my office with a development that Daramola accident wasn’t any accident. Someone pushed him. “But who?”I asked. They don’t know. But someone knows. Aremu, my wayward half-brother. He remembers our private sec. boarding school. An incident that never escaped the lips of people. Orezi fell from the top of the boy’s dormitory.
His head scattered on the ground. He was a school bully so his presence wasn’t gravely missed but how he died amazed everyone.
Someone pushed him because of a girl– Victoria, the most beautiful girl in school. It was a teenage me. She was my high school crush. Killing Orezi I thought I will get a chance with her but she transferred to other school. Aremu knew I did but he protected me. He leverages on it any time. Blackmail.
Extortion. Name it. Aremu knows I killed Daramola and I am in his soup for that. But I don’t consciously kill people. It just happens. When I think evil it happens like puffing a smoke up in the air. Angie is one person I have never thought evil about and it will wreck me if anything happens to her and I must make sure, she knows nothing of my disease as Aremu tags it…