Everything Is Falling Apart

He called her for the first time without a plan. No charm. No excuses. Just fear.

Things fell apart the way things always fall apart. Slowly, then all at once.

Nkem called on Monday morning. She sounded like she hadn’t slept in days.

“He’s losing it, Tola. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Dubem had spent the weekend on the phone. Not his regular iPhone. The second one. The Samsung. He didn’t even bother hiding it anymore. He paced the living room at 1am. He shouted at someone in Igbo so fast Nkem could barely follow. He went outside and sat in his car for two hours in the middle of the night, engine off, just talking.

When he finally came inside, Nkem was sitting on the couch waiting for him. He looked at her and said, “Go to bed.”

“Dubem, what is happening?”

“Go to bed, Nkem.”

He’d never spoken to her like that before. Not that tone. Not that face. Whatever was happening on those phone calls had stripped away every layer of the man she married and left something raw and frightened underneath.

She went to bed. But she didn’t sleep. She lay there listening to him in the living room, opening and closing drawers, shuffling papers, making calls in whispers.

At 4am, she heard something she’d never heard before.

Dubem was crying.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just small, broken sounds coming from the living room. The kind of crying a man does when he thinks nobody can hear him.

Nkem didn’t go to him. She lay in bed with her hand on her belly and stared at the wall and wondered how she got here.

Tola got the full picture from Chinyere, who had spent two days researching.

Here’s what happened:

The government official who originally approved Dubem’s contracts had been transferred to another ministry. New official came in. Started reviewing everything. Found gaps. Contracts awarded to companies with no track record, no staff, no real operations. Millions disbursed for projects that were barely started or never completed. The new official didn’t just have questions. He had a mandate. Someone above him wanted answers, which meant someone above that person wanted heads.

Dubem’s company was one of several being flagged. But it was the biggest. ₦1.2 billion is not the kind of number that gets overlooked during an audit.

The original official, the one who’d signed off on everything, was now distancing himself. Publicly, he’d moved on. Privately, according to what Nkem overheard, he was demanding Dubem return a portion of the money. “Give back what I gave you, or I’ll say I never approved it.”

The problem? Dubem had spent it. The Lekki apartment. The cars. The trips. The bracelet. Nkem’s house in Wuse. The lifestyle that looked like success was funded by contracts for roads nobody built and projects nobody finished.

There was nothing to give back. The money was gone. Turned into concrete and leather seats and gold bracelets engraved with “forever.”

Tuesday afternoon. Tola was at work. Normal day. Mr. Balogun had left early for a “site visit” that everyone knew was him going to watch a Manchester United match at a viewing centre.

Shade came to Tola’s desk. “There are two men asking for you at reception.”

Tola’s stomach flipped. “What kind of men?”

“Official looking. Not smiling.”

Tola stood up. Smoothed her shirt. Walked to reception on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.

Two men. Standing near the entrance. Both wore plain clothes. One was tall with a folder under his arm. The other was shorter, stockier, with a look that said he’d done this a hundred times before.

The tall one spoke first. “Good afternoon. Are you Adetola Bakare?”

“Yes.”

He reached into his pocket and produced an ID card. Tola read it twice to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

Economic and Financial Crimes Commission. EFCC.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Chidubem Okafor. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

The receptionist was staring. Shade had appeared at the hallway entrance, eyes wide. Tola could feel the entire office holding its breath.

“There’s a meeting room. This way.”

She led them to the small conference room. Closed the door. Sat down across from them. Her hands were under the table so they couldn’t see them shaking.

The shorter one opened the folder. “How do you know Chidubem Okafor?”

“He was my boyfriend. We dated for three months. We’re no longer together.”

“When did the relationship end?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Why?”

Tola looked at them. Two government investigators sitting across from her in the conference room where Mr. Balogun usually held his pointless meetings about brand synergy. Nothing about this was normal.

“I found out he was married.”

The tall one wrote something down. “During your relationship, did Mr. Okafor ever discuss his business dealings with you? Contracts, government work, financial arrangements?”

“No. He told me he was a consultant. That’s all I knew.”

“Did he ever give you large sums of money or expensive gifts?”

“No.”

“Did he ever ask you to hold documents, packages, or funds on his behalf?”

“No.”

They asked more questions. Tola answered all of them truthfully. She had nothing to hide because she had never been part of Dubem’s business. She was part of his lie, not his crime.

After twenty minutes, they stood up. The shorter one handed her a card. “If you remember anything else or if Mr. Okafor contacts you, please call this number.”

“Is he going to be arrested?”

They looked at each other. The tall one said: “We can’t discuss details of an ongoing investigation.”

They left. Tola sat in the conference room alone for five minutes. The air conditioning hummed. The whiteboard on the wall still had Mr. Balogun’s notes from last week: “SYNERGY = SUCCESS.”

She almost laughed.

Then she picked up her phone and called Nkem.

“EFCC just came to my office.”

Silence. Then, very quietly: “They came here too. This morning. Dubem wasn’t home. They asked me questions for almost an hour.”

“Where is Dubem?”

“I don’t know. His phone has been off since last night. Obinna’s phone is off too. Nobody is picking up.”

“What do you mean nobody is picking up?”

“I mean they’re gone, Tola. Both of them. Dubem took his passport from the drawer yesterday. I checked this morning. It’s not there.”

The line went quiet.

Dubem was running.

END OF EPISODE 14

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

EFCC at her office. EFCC at Nkem’s house. Dubem’s passport is GONE. He’s running. But where? And what happens to Nkem and the baby? 💔 This story is getting too real. Drop your thoughts.