The Chase

Damilola’s body reacted before his mind did. “That’s him!” he shouted as the black SUV sped away from the cemetery. He jumped into his car and started the engine. The tyres screeched against the gravel as he shot onto the main road. The SUV was already weaving through traffic, cutting across impatient buses and okadas. Damilola refused to lose sight of it. “You’re not disappearing again,” he muttered.

His phone rang.

It was Fiyin.

He ignored it.

The SUV turned sharply onto Ikorodu Road.

Damilola followed.

A danfo suddenly stopped in front of him to pick up passengers.

“Yaba! Yaba! CMS!”

He slammed on the brakes just in time.

By the time he overtook the bus, the SUV was almost gone.

“No…”

He pressed harder on the accelerator.

For another five minutes, he chased the vehicle through Lagos traffic until the SUV suddenly entered the underground parking lot of an old commercial building.

Damilola followed immediately.

The place was almost empty.

He drove around one level.

Then another.

Nothing.

The SUV had vanished.

“There has to be another exit.”

He got out and searched the entire parking lot.

No SUV.

No driver.

No Patrick.

Only a security guard sweeping the floor.

“Excuse me.”

The man looked up.

“Yes, sir?”

“The black SUV that just came in.”

The guard frowned.

“What SUV?”

“The one that entered less than two minutes ago.”

The guard shook his head.

“You’re the only vehicle that has entered this parking lot in the last twenty minutes.”

Damilola stared at him.

“That’s impossible.”

The guard simply shrugged.

Confused, Damilola walked back toward his car.

Something white was tucked beneath his windscreen wiper.

A folded envelope.

His heartbeat quickened.

He opened it.

Inside was a handwritten note.

Stop chasing ghosts. Start asking why your father visited Crestline Holdings the night before he died.

Nothing else.

No signature.

No fingerprints.

No clue.

Only another question.

…

Back at the house, Fiyin was becoming increasingly worried.

She had called Damilola six times without an answer.

Chief Adebisi noticed her anxiety.

“He’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

“You’ve started worrying about him again.”

She smiled faintly.

“I never stopped.”

Mama Bose quietly watched them.

For the first time since Fiyin entered her life, she saw the depth of the young woman’s love.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just steady.

The kind of love that stayed even after heartbreak.

Mama Bose lowered her head in shame.

She had spent three years treating that love like an enemy.

…

An hour later, Damilola returned home and placed the note on the dining table.

Chief Adebisi read it twice.

Then his face changed.

“The night before he died…”

He whispered.

“I remember now.”

Everyone looked at him.

“What do you remember?” Damilola asked.

“Your father called me.”

“And?”

“He asked me to meet him at Crestline Holdings the following morning.”

“Did you go?”

Chief Adebisi slowly shook his head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I received another call before dawn.”

“From who?”

“The police.”

“They said your father had been involved in a fatal accident.”

The room became silent.

Damilola frowned.

“So he died before you could meet him.”

“That’s what I believed.”

Chief Adebisi closed his eyes.

“But now…”

“…I’m beginning to wonder if it was really an accident.”

Fiyin looked at the old documents spread across the table.

“Did anybody ever see the accident report?”

Nobody answered.

She looked at Damilola.

“You’ve been reading letters.”

“You’ve been chasing Patrick.”

“But has anyone actually requested the police investigation file?”

Damilola blinked.

“No.”

Chief Adebisi slapped his forehead.

“How did we miss that?”

For weeks they had been digging through family secrets.

Yet they had never looked at the official record of the death that started everything.

Just then, Damilola’s phone buzzed again.

Another unknown number.

This time there was only one sentence.

Don’t waste time looking for the accident file. It was destroyed twenty-seven years ago.

Damilola slowly lifted his eyes from the screen.

“They know every conversation we’re having.”

Nobody spoke.

Because everyone in the room had just reached the same terrifying conclusion.

Whoever was behind this…

Was much closer to them than they had ever imagined.

To be continued…

Engagement Question: If someone always knows Damilola’s next move, do you think the family has a traitor, or is someone secretly listening to their conversations?