KITAN
The transition from the structured predictability of London to the aggressive, default chaos of Lagos is an assault on Kitan’s nervous system.
Mondays are usually land meetings. Wednesdays drag endlessly for no reason. Fridays are unpredictable because half the executives mentally check out before noon, while the other half suddenly remember urgent problems that apparently cannot survive a weekend. Thursdays however, occupy a lawless middle ground, leaving him unsure of what to expect today.
Kitan is still learning names. Still learning who talks too much in meetings and who only speaks when something important is wrong. Still learning how business in Lagos operates almost entirely through conversations that happen outside official conversations. But increasingly, he is also learning when things do not make sense.
For the past three days, he has sat at the end of the long conference table, surrounded by executives, legal advisors, and project managers.
Today, as with the other days, they slide folders across the table, speak in a rapid dialect of corporate jargon, and present colorful slide decks about the company’s real estate portfolio. To the business team, the current bottlenecks are just the unfortunate cost of doing business in Nigeria.
But as the hours drag on, Kitan stops listening to their explanations and starts looking at the obvious symptoms.
The turning point comes during the forty-minute afternoon meeting about a mixed-use development in Ajah that has suddenly become “legally complicated”. Nobody explains it clearly. Instead, Mr. Kunle Fajemirokun, the Chief Financial Officer, talks around it entirely, sweating slightly through his monogrammed shirt as he shuffles through his notes.
Kitan says nothing throughout most of the session. He just listens. Observing the nervous energy in his posture until he feels compelled to interject.
“Who bought the surrounding parcels?” Kitan asks.
The room goes briefly still. Mr Kunle stops shuffling his papers, his gaze darting rapidly toward the head of the table before settling back on Kitan.
“A smaller consortium” He answers, his voice a little too sharp.
“Smaller how?”
“A group operating through different holding companies,” Kunle mutters, adjusting his cuffs. “It’s standard market competition. Nothing to be alarmed about.”
“Do we know who’s behind them?”
Mr Kunle’s gaze lingers on him, tight and unreadable, before he answers. “Not officially”.
Something about the vagueness of the response and his immediate defensiveness bothers him.
His clinical training, entirely against his will, begins to kick in. As he stares at the charts left behind after the last meeting of the day, Kitan begins spotting patterns the seasoned executives apparently missed.
It starts with the delays. The regulatory permits for their premium commercial development in Agege are suddenly stalled in an endless loop of administrative red tape.
Simultaneously, the contractor for their luxury residential tower on the Island has abruptly halted construction, citing an unexpected supply chain blockage. At the same time, two of their primary funding banks have grown cold, delaying routine credit line renewals with unusually passive-aggressive clauses.
Later that evening, long after the rest of the staff have left for the day, Kitan pulls the project files himself. By 7:18pm, the printed documents are spread halfway across his office desk.
The more he studies the records, the more uncomfortable he becomes. Staring at the data points, he realizes the parcels being acquired are not random. They surround Peters Holdings’ largest upcoming development almost too conveniently.
His assumption solidifies when he reviews the land acquisition logs for the parcels directly adjacent to their flagship Lekki project.
Over the last six weeks, a rival development consortium has been aggressively buying up every single surrounding plot. They are also making unsolicited, lowball offers to buy out Peters properties in that exact sector.
Kitan leans over the architectural maps spread across the table, tracing the boundaries with his finger. If this rival consortium secures those adjacent plots, they can effectively block Peters Holdings’ access roads, trap them in a massive legal stranglehold, and completely devalue their flagship project.
It is a deliberate attempt to cut off the blood supply to their most lucrative asset and permanently weaken their influence in Lagos real estate.
The realization brings a sudden, strange rush of adrenaline. For the first time since he began working here, the smothering fog of uncertainty lifts. He might actually be good at this.
The door clicks open, and Mr. Lawson walks into the room holding a fresh cup of black coffee. He looks surprised to find Kitan still hovering over the layouts.
“Kitan,” Lawson says, setting his mug down with a warm, paternal smile. “You’re still here? I thought you left with the others.”
“I was looking at the timeline for the Lekki permits,” Kitan says, not looking up from the maps. “Uncle Lawson, look at this. The zoning delays aren’t random.”
Lawson lets out a tired, dismissive sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “My boy, this is Lagos. Everything is random. The ministry changes directors, someone somewhere wants a bribe, the paperwork gets lost under a desk. It’s normal.”
“No, it’s a cluster,” Kitan counters, his voice dropping into a low register. “Look at the data points. The permit delays happen the exact same week the bank stalls our credit line. And in that same window, this rival consortium closes on the three plots surrounding our site. Someone is intentionally choking our operational cash flow so we can’t build, while simultaneously cutting off our physical access to the land.”
Lawson frowns, stepping closer to the table. He adjusts his reading glasses, his eyes scanning the highlighted sections Kitan has marked out. The dismissive fatigue on the older man’s face slowly replaces itself with a tense focus.
“Wait. If they block that western corridor...” Lawson murmurs, his brow furrowing deeply.
Lawson looks up from the map, staring at his dear friend’s son with a mixture of surprise and newfound respect. He places a steadying, reassuring hand on Kitan’s shoulder. “How did you see this? You’ve been in these meetings for barely a month. Your father would be incredibly proud of you right now, Kitan. You have his eyes.”
Kitan swallows past the sudden lump in his throat, a small flicker of confidence settling in his chest. “It’s just a differential diagnosis. But it means I can’t leave for London next weekend as planned. We need to dig into who is financing this rival consortium.”
Lawson nods slowly, a huge sigh escaping him as his eyes drift back to the map. “If you stay, we’ll need the legal team to pull every deed from the registry. It’s going to be a long week, my boy”
“I’m already here,” Kitan replies.
*******
By the time he finally leaves the building, Kachi is waiting for him downstairs. Kitan finds him sitting on the bonnet of his car, eating suya from a sheet of aluminum foil.
Since Kachi works at a private law firm nearby and is on the brink of making partner, his days are just as grueling but he had promised to visit, so here he is.
“You look troubled,” Kachi says by way of greeting, handing a bottle of cold Sprite to Kitan.
“Guy, I might be accidentally becoming a business person.”
Kachi stares at him, cracking open his own bottle. “Not you saying that like it’s a bad thing. What is going on? Fire on the mountain?”
Kitan explains the situation of things. Kachi listens more carefully than he jokes, which is usually how Kachi listens when something actually matters.
“So what are you saying?” Kachi asks eventually, as Kitan takes a seat on the bonnet beside him. “That somebody is trying to squeeze Peters Holdings out?”
“I don’t know yet,” Kitan says, picking a piece of suya absentmindedly. “But with the way things are looking... the odds are not in our favour at all.”
Kachi hums thoughtfully. “You know this means you’re trapped here longer now.”
Kitan exhales through his nose. He has been trying not to think about the reality of his findings, especially with his father’s impending surgery.
Besides, the city is already leaving its mark on him. He now instinctively checks traffic before leaving anywhere. He keeps emergency cash in different places. He knows which routes flood fastest after rainfall.
Just yesterday, he argued with a PHCN official for twenty minutes over a fraudulent utility bill and won. That change, more than anything else, concerns him deeply.
“Wait, this one your face is serious like this. Don’t tell me you are actually considering moving back,” Kachi says, a grin tugging at his mouth. “As per reverse japa?”
“No. Not that,” Kitan mumbles, watching the distant headlights blur. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know yet.”
Kachi laughs loudly, the sound bouncing off the concrete pavement. “Omo. I could never have seen this coming. Kitan Peters considering staying in this Lagos.”
Before Kitan can respond, his phone vibrates against the bonnet beside him. The bright screen cuts through the dark. It is a message from Enitan.
Enitan:
Kitan... I found something.
KITAN
Kitan waits until he gets home before responding to Enitan. He goes over the text again on the edge of his bed as the saxophone playing in his head gets louder. He decides to call her instead.
The phone rings twice before she picks up. “Hello?”
Something in the hollow, guarded tone of her voice makes him straighten instinctively. “What did you find?”
“I don’t think I should explain this over the phone,” she says.
Whatever remaining smile lingered on his face disappears completely. He leans forward, rubbing a tense hand across his face. “It’s that bad?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Are you home?”
“Just got in.” He closes his eyes, fatigue dragging at his eyelids. “What are you doing tomorrow evening after work?”
“I can make myself available.”
The absolute readiness in her response coaxes a slight, involuntary lift to the corner of his mouth despite everything. “Or better still, let’s do Saturday. I just remembered I have a conflicting strategy session with Uncle Lawson tomorrow and an otherwise full day.”
“Yeah. Saturday works. You sound really tired. Get some sleep,” she says, her voice softening into a gentler register.
“You too.”
Neither of them sounds particularly convinced.
The line ends with a sharp click and Kitan drops the phone onto the mattress beside him. He stares at the wall, his mind immediately questioning how on earth he is supposed to wait that long to hear whatever it is that she found.
ENITAN
By noon the next day, Enitan has read the same email three times.
The problem is not the email. The problem is that every time she opens her laptop, her mind drifts relentlessly back to her findings and what it might mean for Peters Holdings.
“Miss Enitan?”
She looks up. Tolu, a junior analyst from her team, is standing beside her desk.
“Sorry?”
“I asked if we should include the revised valuation schedule in the presentation.”
Enitan blinks, forcing her brain to catch up. “Yeah, sure.” She stops herself, pinching the bridge of her nose as she shuts her eyes briefly. “Sorry. Start again. Walk me through the entire presentation from the top.”
By the time Tolu finally leaves, a dull ache is ringing behind her eyes in varying decibels. Her meticulous attention to detail is half the reason she is indispensable at her job but keeping her focus locked today is a losing battle.
A Teams notification flashes on her screen; she sweeps her trackpad and closes it without even reading it.
A few seconds later, Odion materializes beside her desk carrying a cold bottle of water. He places it gently beside her keyboard.
“You forgot this in the conference room.”
“Thank you.”
He doesn’t leave immediately, leaning his hip against the edge of the partition instead. “What’s going on? You’ve been off today.”
“Nothing,” she says, keeping her expression neutral. “I’m just having one of those days.”
Odion folds his arms, looking down at her with a perceptive glare. “Should I be concerned?”
“I’m fine, for real.”
“Mhmm. Is that why you gave Tolu approval to print the Greenfield report before we even ran the tax adjustments?”
Enitan freezes, her fingers halting over her keyboard. “Did I?”
“You did,” Odion says, a light, teasing warmth breaking through his voice. “Don’t worry, I caught him at the printer. I told him you were just testing his critical thinking skills.”
A small, genuine smile finally breaks through her exhaustion.
“There she is,” Odion cooes.
“There who is?”
“The Enitan I know.”
He reaches into the brown paper bag he is carrying, removes a takeaway container, and places the warm food right on her desk. “Please eat so you don’t faint on my watch. You are still my most valuable team member.”
“Not you assuming I haven’t eaten today.”
“We both know you haven’t,” he replies smoothly, tapping the plastic lid once. “There’s no need to front here.”
He turns and disappears down the corridor before she can fully gather her thoughts to say thank you.
Enitan stares at the container as her stomach right on cue grumbles to remind her of the hollow ache in her ribs. Unfortunately, he is entirely right. She is indeed famished.
KITAN
The surgical consultant has excellent handwriting. That is the one specific detail that registers as Kitan flips through the latest clinical updates at the foot of his father’s bed.
He reviews the charts while the older man explains the final pre-operative roadmap. Thanks to the brutal, unyielding workload over at Peters Holdings, his hours here have been drastically cut short.
But right now, the only thought circling his mind is in the form of a recurring question: should he tell his father what he has been uncovering within the company files?
He decides against it. A massive corporate betrayal is the absolute last thing the man needs to process a week before his surgery. Besides, he has no idea what Enitan actually found in the financial records yet.
The only logical path forward is to wait, hear what she has to say and get a complete bird’s-eye view of the entire situation first. He checks his watch with a quick flick of his wrist; he has barely twenty minutes left to wrap up here before he needs to head back to the office.
As his eyes scan the medical charts, a few technical anomalies stand out. He rattles off three precise, rapid-fire clinical questions regarding the post-op fluid management and arterial pressures. The consultant answers without a single moment of hesitation, his respect for the younger doctor’s sharpness evident in his tone.
For ten minutes, the conversation moves into risk factors, recovery timelines, and meticulous post-operative monitoring protocols. These are variables Kitan understands instinctively.
When the consultant finally finishes his brief and exits the room, Chief Peters leans his head back against the white hospital pillows and smiles faintly. “You look happier”.
Kitan glances up, closing the folder. “Medicine is my happy place. You, however, look like you are in a sad place. You should be sleeping, Dad.”
“That’s practically all I do these days. How are things at the office?”
Kitan swallows a non-existent lump in his throat, forcing his features to remain perfectly neutral. “It’s going okay. Uncle Lawson is doing a brilliant job of managing the chaos.”
His father lets out a genuine, low chuckle. “He tells me you’re catching on remarkably fast. You have always given the best of yourself to things that pique your interest.”
“Yeah. I guess. I need to get back to the office,” Kitan says, reaching for his keys to break the sudden emotional proximity. “I have spoken at length with the consultant. Please, in the meantime, I am ordering you to be a compliant patient. No secret phone calls to the managers, no office files hidden under your blanket, and absolutely no stress. Rest, eat the bland hospital food, and follow the nurses’ instructions to the letter. I’ll be back this weekend to check on you properly.”
His father’s smile broadens. “This is the most I have seen you in years,” he says, his voice thick with a poignant resonance. “I am so happy you are here, Kitan bobo. My heart is completely full.”
The raw vulnerability in the words hits Kitan directly in the chest, a sudden heat gathering behind his eyes. Panic flares inside him; he does not know how to survive the emotions currently rising in his throat, so he retreats into his default defense mechanism.
“Wow. Who is cutting onions?” Kitan deflects with a frantic, breathless laugh, already moving toward the exit.
“Save the speech for after the surgery. I’m leaving before Uncle Lawson reports me for being AWOL.” He steps out and rushes through the doors before the dam in his chest can completely fracture.
********
Time crawls at an agonizing pace when you are in mind-numbing suspense.
Back at the office, every single meeting feels like it is lasting twice as long as necessary. Twice during the operations review, Lawson stops mid-sentence, looks across the table, and asks if he is alright. Twice, Kitan forces a relaxed smile and says yes.
By five-thirty, he is sitting alone in his office, staring at the exact same row on an operational report for the third separate time without absorbing a single syllable. At five forty-five, the frustration peaks, and he gives up completely. He grabs his phone and texts Enitan.
Kitan:
I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow. Can we meet after work today?
Enitan:
Phew. Thank God. The suspense was absolutely killing me.
Kitan:
Lmao. Twins. I’m rounding up here. I’ll just come directly from the office to your place.
Enitan:
No wahala. See you soon.
*******
Fifteen minutes later, his phone rings through the car’s Bluetooth speakers as he navigates the sluggish evening exodus out of Ikoyi. He picks without looking at the phone screen.
“Please tell me you’re not still working,” Kachi greets him over the line.
“On the contrary, I am currently trapped in brutal traffic,” Kitan mutters, shifting his foot on the brake pedal.
“So yes.”
“Technically, no.”
“Same difference.”
Kitan lets out a low laugh, his tight shoulders loosening slightly. The bumper-to-bumper gridlock finally lurches forward a few pathetic metres before stopping dead once more.
“How’s Uncle Kola?” Kachi asks, his tone dropping its teasing edge.
They talk for several minutes about the upcoming Whipple surgery, the grueling realities of work-life balance, and a high-net-worth client Kachi is currently convinced was raised by a pack of wolves.
“You sound distracted, bro.” Kachi says after a brief pause.
Kitan hesitates, watching the red brake lights ahead blur in the fading light. “Enitan found something in the group accounts.”
“What kind of something?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“And this is bothering you because...?”
“Because I think whatever it is might be connected to some of the things I’ve been noticing,” Kitan confesses, his voice dropping into a tense whisper.
The traffic moves again, and this time, the car actually rolls smoothly for almost ten whole seconds.
“Okay, look, there is no point driving yourself mad with theories,” Kachi says levelly after a beat. “Find out exactly what she uncovered first, then you can plan your next move.”
“Yeah” Kitan sighs, switching on his indicator. “I’m actually driving over to her place right now.”
“Her house ke?” Kachi’s voice cracks with an immediate, mischievous chuckle over the speakers. “Like... just the two of you? At night?”
Kitan frowns aggressively at the dashboard. “First of all, it’s not exactly night. And I have told you one million times that this is not that kind of situation. She’s as good as family. This visit is purely professional.”
“I didn’t say anything o! You’re the one defending yourself so quickly,” Kachi guffaws, his loud laughter filling the cabin. “But seriously, get the facts first. Don’t jump to conclusion before you even see the data.”
“Yeah. The suspense is just actively flogging me. Gosh. What if the books are really bad?”
“You will cross that bridge when you get there. But it’s this professional visit part that is sweeting me”
“Ugh. Release me”
By the time the call ends a few minutes later, Kitan is smiling despite himself, the heavy dread in his chest momentarily lightened by his friend’s standard banter.
His phone screen lights up briefly on the passenger seat, a fresh notification dropping down.
Enitan: I’m running a little late from the office. So sorry!
Kitan slides the device into the console. Up ahead, the bottleneck at the intersection finally fractures, and the gridlock clears out into a wide, beautifully smooth stretch of free road. He presses his foot firmly down on the accelerator, the engine roaring to life as the car surges forward.
*********
At 7:08PM, Kitan is already seated in his idling car in her compound, the smooth thrum of the engine the only sound breaking the relative stillness of the courtyard as he waits for her to arrive.
Her sedan pulls through the gates seven minutes later. She steps out of the car wearing a structured charcoal blazer over a crisp white button-down shirt that looks slightly rumpled from hours at her desk, and her laptop bag hangs heavily from one shoulder.
Her movements are slow, a profound physical exhaustion weighting her limbs, and the bright security lights overhead catch the distinct, stubborn dark circles smudging the skin beneath her eyes.
Kitan jumps out of his car immediately, crossing the gravel to meet her side and sliding the heavy laptop bag off her shoulder before she can even object.
“You haven’t been sleeping well,” he says softly, his brows knitting together as he looks down at her face.
Enitan stops near the stairs, looking up at him incredulously. “Neither have you, apparently.”
They walk up the lone flight of stairs to her apartment in a comfortable, tired silence. Enitan unlocks the door, and they make their way directly to her dining table. Kitan tracks her movements as he drops her bags onto the polished wood, his chest tightening with concern at how utterly spent she looks.
“Do you want to change first?”
She drops heavily into the chair opposite him, leaning her head back for a brief second. “No need. I’m fine.” With a tired sigh, she reaches up, uncuffs her sleeves, and untucks her shirt from her trousers. Then, reaching back, she slips off her sleek bob wig and massages her temples with a long breath.
Kitan swiftly looks down, actively ignoring the sudden skip his pulse makes watching her go through the motions of these mundane actions. It is an entirely unshielded view of her that ignites his protective instincts while simultaneously making his heart race, but there is a massive elephant in the room demanding their focus. He forces his floundering brain to lock into position instead.
“So,” he prompts, leaning over the table. “What did you find?”
Enitan pulls herself straight, the exhaustion in her eyes instantly sharpening into data-driven focus. She leans across the table, reaches into her bag, and removes a thick manila folder from underneath. Then another, then a third.
Kitan watches the documents slide across the wood. “Should I be worried?”
“Yes.”
She places the printouts right between them. For the next ten minutes, her voice drops into a calm, terrifyingly precise register as she walks him through her findings. She tracks the movement of funds, points out the consistently inflated vendor payments, and maps the exact camouflage where identical expenditures appear in one subsidiary ledger only to disappear and reappear elsewhere under a completely different name.
Kitan’s expression grows steadily more serious, the gravity of the implication hardening his features. By the time she finally traces the last fraudulent transaction back to the consolidated trial balance, he is completely stupefied.
“Gosh”
She sits back, crossing her arms tightly. “I know. I went over it multiple times. I kept hoping I was wrong.”
Instead of answering, Kitan reaches down for the structured leather bag resting beside his chair. “My turn.” He pulls out a heavy folder of his own and slides several documents across the table.
Enitan frowns, pulling the files closer. “What am I looking at?”
“At first, I thought it was just a coincidence,” Kitan states.
“Never a reassuring way to start a sentence.”
His finger taps the first architectural map. “This particular project was stalled for six weeks over a sudden zoning permit delay.” Then he slides his finger to the next sheet. “And for this commercial tower on the Island, the main contractor abruptly pulls out of negotiations at the final hour.” Then a third. “And here, the bank unexpectedly goes ice-cold and rewrites the funding terms.”
Enitan studies the papers more carefully, her eyebrows knitting together as she reviews the timelines. This is way out of her field of expertise, but her analytical brain effortlessly follows the picture he is painting for her.
“So you are saying these operational hits happened one after another,” she says, her gaze lifting to meet his. “And all three of these projects were highly strategic for the group’s expansion.”
Kitan nods once.
Enitan leans further forward, her hands flat on the table. “What happened after the projects stalled?”
“The surrounding parcels of land started getting acquired.” Kitan says, his voice falling into a grim whisper.
A deep frown pulls at her forehead. “By who?”
“That is the problem. I’m not sure.” Kitan pushes the land registry logs toward her. “The available data says it’s different companies, but my instinct tells me it might be the same person behind all of them.”
She scans the names, her mind whirring. None are familiar.
For several minutes, the immediate exhaustion is entirely abandoned as they dive headfirst into the documents together—comparing dates, cross-referencing ledger entries, testing hypotheses, and ruthlessly discarding theories that do not fit the criteria.
The dining table slowly disappears beneath a sprawling landscape of paperwork, their shared fatigue completely forgotten in this newfound search for the truth.
Eventually, Enitan sits back in exasperation. “You don’t think your project delays are random. And I don’t think my missing eight-figure disbursements are random either and the way it is looking, these two things might be interconnected.”
“Yeah,” Kitan mutters, staring down at the mess of files. “I’m officially terrified.”
Enitan’s fingers freeze halfway down one of the land acquisition logs. She gasps, “Wait”.
Kitan looks up immediately, tracking the sudden stillness in her posture.
Without saying a word, she grabs a vendor ledger from her side of the table, flipping through the pages with frantic precision until she finds what she is looking for. She places both documents side by side, her finger pressing firmly against the paper.
For a long, suffocating moment, neither of them speaks.
The exact same consultancy firm appears in both places. On her side, they are the intermediary entity receiving the unvouched “vendor advances” from the parent account. On his side, they are listed as the primary financial advisors facilitating the rival consortium’s land acquisitions. Different projects, different subsidiary lines, entirely different contexts but the exact same name.
Kitan’s eyes narrow into a dangerous, razor-sharp focus. “That’s strange.”
“Very”.
“Could still be an incredibly convenient coincidence,” Kitan tries to rationalize, though his voice lacks any real conviction.
“Maybe.”
Neither of them sounds remotely convinced. Enitan traces the black lettering of the company name again with her index finger, replaying the available information in her head, connecting the internal finance lines to the external land bids.
“How many people know about Peters’ land acquisitions before the deeds are actually finalised?”
Kitan answers immediately, without a shadow of doubt. “Not many.”
“How many is not many?”
He thinks for a second, mapping the executive floor. “Executive leadership. Legal. A small loop in finance depending on the funding structure. The development leads.”
Enitan holds his gaze across the table. She watches the realization hit him in real time—the subtle tightening of his jaw, the slight widening of his pupils as the pieces click together into a cohesive, horrifying picture.
“If somebody knew exactly where Peters Holdings was moving before the market did...” she says, her voice barely a whisper.
“They could position their own entities first, choke our project, and bleed the parent company from the inside,” Kitan finishes the sentence, his tone cold as iron.
Neither speaks for several seconds. The air in the dining room suddenly feels thick, the physical space between them shrinking under the massive weight of what they are looking at. This isn’t just a case of simple corporate embezzlement or aggressive competition; it is a meticulously coordinated inside execution.
Eventually, Kitan exhales through his nose, leaning back into his chair as he tries to steady his mind. “You realize the sheer madness of what we are implying, right? We are probably entirely wrong.”
“But if we’re right—”
“Yes”.
Neither finishes the sentence; there is absolutely no need to. Enitan glances down at the overlapping documents one last time, then looks back up at him. “What do we do?”
Kitan looks away as the wheels churn relentlessly behind his eyes. When his gaze snaps back to hers, the emotional evasion is gone, replaced by absolute certainty.
“We don’t tell a single soul yet,” he says.
Enitan nods slowly in agreement.
“Not until we have ironclad proof of who holds the strings. Please, Enitan. I’m sorry I am asking this of you but not even Oyinda. Especially not her. Not in her condition. We can loop her in upper week after the surgery.”
“No problem,” Enitan replies.
Kitan leans forward, his eyes locking onto hers with an intense, exclusive gravity that seals the pact between them. “Between you and I, Eni. We keep this completely contained. We find the leak, and we clear out the nest together.”
Author’s Note: Agent Eni and Agent Kit Kat are in full operation mode, who is ready?🙃
Catch up: Chapter one, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine (1), Chapter Nine (2), and Chapter Ten.
See you next week Monday.🫶🏽
I hope it's not Uncle Lawson that's the mastermind shs
Not me being happy when Kitan was confused about the corporate world but now I'm the only confused one 😭😭😭😭😭