When the chief died, newspapers praised his legacy. Politicians attended the funeral. Business leaders gave speeches.
But after the burial came the truth.
His eldest son handed her a folder. Inside were documents granting her a modest apartment and a small monthly allowance.
“You must move within two months,” he said calmly.
That was how the mansion left her.
Quietly.
Legally.
Completely.
In the apartment she moved into afterward, Bolanle discovered something she had spent twenty years running from.
Then, one day, in a market, she overheard traders discussing a businessman on the radio.
“Oyeniyi Furnishings just signed a huge contract.”
“They say Toby Oyeniyi may soon become one of the richest manufacturers in the region.”
Bolanle stopped walking.
For a moment, she could not breathe.
Toby?
The poor carpenter she had abandoned?
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