The Arrest

The living room went completely silent.

Nobody moved.

Nobody even seemed to breathe.

The gate man stood at the entrance, sweating.

“Pastor… they’re waiting outside.”

Teniola looked from her father to her mother.

Her mother’s face had gone pale.

“Gideon…” she whispered. “What is happening?”

Pastor Gideon slowly placed his Bible on the centre table.

He didn’t panic.

He didn’t try to run.

He simply adjusted his glasses.

“Open the gate.”

The gate man hesitated.

“Sir…”

“Open it.”

A few seconds later, three police officers walked into the compound.

The one in front introduced himself.

“Good evening. I’m Superintendent Daniel Hassan.”

He removed a folded document from a brown file.

“We have a warrant.”

Teniola felt her heart pounding against her ribs.

The officer looked around the room.

“Who is Pastor Gideon Akinwale?”

“I am.”

The officer walked closer.

“Sir, we need you to come with us for questioning regarding new evidence connected to the Lekki trailer collision that happened five years ago.”

Her mother gasped.

“What?”

Teniola couldn’t take her eyes off her father.

He remained calm.

“I’ll cooperate.”

The officer nodded respectfully.

“Thank you, sir.”

Just as another officer stepped forward to place handcuffs on him, Superintendent Hassan stopped him.

“Not yet.”

He looked at Pastor Gideon.

“Sir, if you’re willing to cooperate, there’ll be no need for that.”

Pastor Gideon nodded once.

“I appreciate that.”

Teniola finally found her voice.

“Daddy…”

He turned.

“I need one answer.”

He looked at her quietly.

“Did you pay the trailer driver?”

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

Without hesitation.

Without fear.

“I did not.”

She searched his face.

For years she had known when he was lying.

As a child, she could always tell.

Today…

She couldn’t.

Not because he had become better at hiding.

But because pain looked too much like honesty.

The police escorted him outside.

Before entering the vehicle, he turned back.

“Teni.”

She walked closer.

“I know you don’t trust me right now.”

She said nothing.

“But listen carefully.”

His voice dropped.

“I’ve hidden many things from you.”

A tear escaped his eye.

“Not because I wanted to protect myself.”

He swallowed.

“Because I wanted to protect you.”

The police vehicle drove away.

Leaving behind more questions than answers.

That night…

Nobody slept.

Not Teniola.

Not her mother.

Not Kola.

Around 2 a.m., Kola’s phone rang.

It was Superintendent Hassan.

“Kola.”

“Yes, officer?”

“I think you should come to the station.”

“Why?”

The officer sounded unsettled.

“Pastor Gideon has agreed to talk.”

Kola stood up immediately.

“And?”

“He keeps repeating one sentence.”

“What sentence?”

The officer hesitated.

Then said quietly,

“He says… ‘Go to the church basement before sunrise.'”

Kola frowned.

“Church basement?”

“Yes.”

“He refuses to explain.”

By 4:30 a.m., Kola, Teniola and Superintendent Hassan stood inside Immanuel Covenant Assembly.

It was the church Pastor Gideon had built over twenty years earlier.

The sanctuary was empty.

Only the security guard was there.

He looked confused to see police officers.

The superintendent looked around.

“Where’s the basement?”

The security guard scratched his head.

“Oga… this church no get basement.”

Kola looked around slowly.

Then noticed something.

The altar.

It was raised unusually high.

Higher than most churches.

He walked toward it.

Knelt down.

His fingers touched the polished wooden floor.

Then…

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

One section sounded hollow.

He looked up.

“There is something under here.”

Within minutes, workers were removing wooden panels.

Dust filled the air.

The church had never been opened beneath the altar before.

Finally…

A narrow staircase appeared.

The security guard’s mouth fell open.

“I’ve worked here for seventeen years.”

“I never knew this place existed.”

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances.

Superintendent Hassan switched on his flashlight.

“Let’s go.”

The basement smelled of old paper and damp concrete.

It wasn’t large.

Just one room.

One metal cabinet.

One wooden desk.

And shelves filled with dusty files.

Teniola slowly walked around.

“What is all this?”

Kola opened the cabinet.

Inside were dozens of sealed envelopes.

Each one had a name.

Different names.

Different dates.

The superintendent picked one.

Inside…

Bank documents.

Another.

Property papers.

Another.

Photographs.

His expression changed.

“What?”

Kola asked.

The officer slowly held up one photograph.

It showed Pastor Gideon.

Standing beside a man.

A man Teniola recognised immediately.

“Musa…”

The trailer driver.

Her knees almost gave way.

“No…”

Superintendent Hassan looked closer.

“The picture doesn’t prove anything.”

Kola wasn’t convinced.

“Look at the date.”

The photograph had been taken…

Three years before the accident.

They knew each other.

Long before that night.

Teniola covered her mouth.

“Oh God…”

Then Morenike, who had followed them quietly into the basement, froze.

She was staring at the desk.

“No…”

Everyone turned.

She pointed with a trembling finger.

“There.”

On the desk sat a small wooden frame.

Covered in dust.

Kola wiped it clean.

Inside the frame…

Was an old family photograph.

Pastor Gideon.

His wife.

Little Teniola.

And…

Another child.

A little boy.

About six years old.

Smiling.

Standing beside Pastor Gideon.

Teniola frowned.

“Who is that?”

Her mother had never mentioned another child.

She looked closer.

She had never seen him before.

The back of the photograph had handwriting.

Superintendent Hassan read it aloud.

“Our children, Teniola and Daniel. Christmas, 1998.”

The room fell silent.

Teniola’s heartbeat became painfully loud.

She looked at Kola.

Then at the photograph again.

Her voice barely came out.

“I…”

“I have a brother?”

At that exact moment…

Superintendent Hassan’s phone rang.

He answered.

His face changed immediately.

“What?”

He listened for several seconds.

Then slowly lowered the phone.

Kola stepped forward.

“Officer?”

The superintendent looked directly at Teniola.

“We’ve just confirmed something.”

She could barely breathe.

“The little boy in that photograph…”

He paused.

“…didn’t die.”

Teniola stared at him.

“He has been alive all these years.”

A colder silence settled over the room.

Then the superintendent added one final sentence.

“And according to our records…”

“…he returned to Nigeria three weeks before your accident.”

To be continued…