Silence.
Mama Obi covered her mouth.
Papa Obi blinked rapidly.
The eldest brother, Ameka, cleared his throat. “You are not upset?”
Adese looked at him in surprise. “I have a family. I have a roof. I have people who came to get me when nobody else wanted me. What is there to be upset about?”
In the kitchen, where no one could see him, the youngest brother, Obina, leaned against the wall and whispered, “She is real.”
What Adese did not know was this:
The tired man in the faded shirt was Chief Obidike Obi, worth more than 200 billion naira.
He owned shipping companies, oil blocks, pharmaceutical chains, and real estate all over Victoria Island.
His eldest son, Ameka, quietly controlled shares in three of the biggest banks in West Africa.
The second son, Tunde, had built a tech company worth 40 billion naira.
The youngest, Obina, was one of the most sought-after surgeons in the country.
And yet they all lived in that crumbling compound on purpose.
Because fifty years earlier, the Obi family had created a rule:
Every child of Obi blood must live in poverty until their twentieth birthday.
No luxury.
No help.
No shortcuts.
Only then would they know the child’s true character.
Netchi had failed that test.
Adese did not even know she was taking it.
On her third morning in Mushin, Adese woke at five, swept the compound, boiled water, and cooked yam with egg sauce.
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