EFCC

Two men at her door. Plain clothes. Badges. “We’d like to ask you some questions about Chidubem Okafor.”

Tola booked a flight to Abuja on Wednesday morning.

She didn’t think about it for long. There was nothing to think about. Nkem was alone in a house paid for with stolen money, pregnant, with EFCC circling and a husband who had vanished with his passport and his brother. Her family in Enugu knew bits and pieces but not the full picture. Her mother kept calling and praying on the phone, which was sweet but didn’t change anything.

Nkem needed someone who understood. And the only person who understood was the woman her husband had been lying to.

Funny how life works.

Chinyere didn’t ask questions. She just said, “What time is the flight?” and started packing a bag.

Bisola drove them to the airport. Funke sent a voice note that said, “If anything happens to you people, I will resurrect you and kill you myself. Be safe.” Classic Funke. Even her love sounded like a threat.

They landed in Abuja at 2pm. Took a cab to Wuse 2. Nkem had sent the address.

Tola had imagined this house a hundred times. In her mind it was massive, cold, a mansion built on fraud. But when the cab pulled up, it was just a house. Three bedrooms. Painted cream. Small garden in front. A blue gate. Normal. The kind of house a young couple would be proud of.

That made it worse somehow.

Nkem opened the gate herself. No gateman. She’d sent him home two days ago because she didn’t want anyone around when EFCC came back.

And there she was. The woman from the Instagram photos. The woman in the wedding gown. The woman with the bracelet and the baby bump and the bio that said “God’s favourite wife.”

She was smaller than Tola expected. Shorter. Rounder now, six months pregnant, wearing a loose dress and slippers. Her face was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. The kind that lives behind your eyes when your whole world has shifted and you haven’t finished processing it.

They stood at the gate looking at each other. Two women who had spent weeks talking through screens, sharing secrets, building something strange and fragile out of the wreckage one man had made.

Then Nkem said, “You’re taller than your pictures.”

Tola laughed. She didn’t mean to. It just came out. And Nkem laughed too. A small, exhausted, genuine laugh.

Then they hugged. And it wasn’t awkward. It should have been. Every rule of this situation said it should have been weird and painful and tense. But it wasn’t. Because these two women had been through something together that nobody else could understand, and when you survive something like that, the normal rules don’t apply anymore.

Chinyere stood behind them, watching, arms folded, sunglasses on her head. She waited for the hug to end, then said, “My name is Chinyere. I’m Tola’s best friend. And I’ve been ready to fight your husband since Episode 1 of this madness.”

Nkem smiled. “Come inside. I made tea.”

The house was quiet. Clean but disorganized in the way a home gets when one person is trying to hold everything together alone. Baby clothes folded on the couch. A half-eaten plate of rice on the dining table. Nkem’s phone charger plugged in at three different spots in the living room like she was moving from room to room unable to settle.

They sat in the living room. Nkem poured tea. Her hands were steady but her eyes kept drifting to the door like she was expecting someone to walk in.

“When last did you hear from him?” Tola asked.

“Three days ago. Before his phone went off. He said he was handling things. That I should stay calm and not talk to anyone.” She looked down at her cup. “I’ve been talking to you every day.”

“Good.”

Nkem told them about the EFCC visit. Two operatives. Different from the ones who came to Tola. They were polite but thorough. They sat in this same living room, on these same chairs, and asked her questions for almost an hour. Did she know about her husband’s business? Did she have access to his accounts? Had she seen any documents?

She told them she didn’t know anything. She lied. She sat in her own living room, six months pregnant, and lied to federal investigators to protect a man who had been cheating on her for two years.

“Why?” Tola asked. Not judging. Genuinely asking.

Nkem took a long time to answer. “Because I was scared. Not for him. For me. For the baby. If I told them what I knew, if I showed them what I found in his study, what happens to me? I’m his wife. My name is on this house. What if they think I was part of it?”

Chinyere leaned forward. “Were you?”

“No. I didn’t know about any of it until Tola found that receipt. Everything I know, I found out in the last few weeks. Same as her. I was in the dark. He kept me there on purpose.”

The room was quiet. Outside, a bird was singing. The generator next door was humming. Abuja sounds.

Tola reached across and held Nkem’s hand. “Nobody is going to think you were part of it. You’re a victim in this. Same as me. Same as whoever came before us.”

Nkem squeezed her hand. Didn’t let go.

They talked for hours. About everything. About the documents in the study. About what EFCC might do next. About the baby. About Dubem. About the life Nkem thought she had and the life Tola thought she was building. Two different dreams. Same architect. Same lie.

At 9pm, Chinyere fell asleep on the couch. She’d been up since 4am. Tola covered her with a wrapper and sat with Nkem in the kitchen.

That’s when Nkem’s phone buzzed.

Unknown number. A WhatsApp message.

She opened it. Read it. Her face went white.

“What?” Tola asked.

Nkem handed her the phone.

The message was from Dubem. Sent from a number she didn’t have saved. Wherever he was, he’d found a way to reach her.

“Nkem. I know you’ve been in my study. I know you took pictures. Please listen to me carefully. Take the documents from the drawer. All of them. Burn everything. The contracts, the letters, the payment schedules. Everything. If they find those papers, I will go to prison for 15 years. Please. I am begging you. For me. For our baby. Burn them tonight.”

Tola read it twice. Then she looked at Nkem.

Nkem was staring at the kitchen wall. One hand on her belly. The other gripping the edge of the table.

“What are you going to do?” Tola asked.

Nkem didn’t answer. Not yet. But something was moving behind her eyes. Something that looked like a woman making the hardest decision of her life.

END OF EPISODE 15