The file sat on Amaka's screen like a doorway waiting to be opened. Titled Echo Chamber, it had arrived anonymously, just hours after her confrontation with Somadina. It contained a simple spreadsheet. Names. Roles. Dates. Comments. But each entry told a story of secrets whispered behind closed doors. The deeper she read, the clearer the pattern became. This was no scattered act of office gossip or petty rivalry. This was something layered, coordinated, deliberate. And now she was standing at the center of it.
The first name she recognized was Ngozi's. Her name appeared next to a date that matched the day Amaka had first been invited to join the leadership team. The comment column read: Initial opposition ignored. Alternative candidate blocked. Amaka leaned back, her fingers pressed lightly on the desk. She knew Ngozi had never supported her return, but seeing it written plainly stripped away the politeness they wore like perfume in the office. It was never about professionalism. It was personal. Calculated.
She scrolled further and saw another name that sent a sharp jolt through her. Dayo Ajayi. He was not part of her everyday dealings, but he was one of the quieter board members. He rarely spoke during meetings, often nodding along but never saying much. According to the file, he had met with the investor group three days before the anonymous photo was sent out. The comment attached to his name read: Greenlit surveillance. Flagged past connection.
Amaka stood from her desk and began pacing. They had not just watched her. They had gone digging into her past, her mistakes, her connections. Chuka's name never appeared directly, but she knew he was part of the story. They had used her proximity to him as a weapon, not just to undermine her credibility, but to keep him under pressure too. They wanted to remove her, but they also wanted to weaken him. Two birds, one photo.
She returned to her laptop, heart steady now. She knew what this was. A cleansing. They wanted to control the narrative before she gained more power. They saw her as a risk. Someone too smart, too connected, too loud. And they were right.
She picked up her phone and dialed Chuka's number. He answered on the first ring.
"I need to see you," she said. "Now."
His office was dim when she arrived, the blinds drawn, the door locked behind her. He sat at his desk, tie loosened, laptop open. When she placed the Echo Chamber file in front of him, he did not speak for several seconds. His eyes moved slowly down the names. When he reached Dayo's, his expression darkened.
"I trusted him," Chuka said finally. "I brought him in. He was one of the people who supported my transition to CEO."
"He supported you because he thought he could control you," Amaka said calmly. "And then I came back. And that changed everything."
Chuka closed the file. "We need to act. We need to present this to the audit committee. There has to be a formal investigation."
"No," Amaka said firmly. "Not yet. If we bring this forward now, they will bury it. We need to gather more. We need to be precise. Not just names. Motives. Proof of collusion. And we need allies."
He looked at her, studying her face. "You are not afraid anymore."
"I was never afraid," she replied. "I was waiting for clarity. Now I have it."
She stood and turned toward the door, but before she could open it, Chuka spoke again.
"Amaka. I know this is not the time, but I need you to hear this. Everything they used against you. Everything they assumed. It was based on a truth I never handled well."
She paused but did not turn.
"I did love you," he said. "I still do."
She closed her eyes for a second, her breath caught in her chest.
"But that love cannot be what saves us," she replied. "It has to be the truth."
She left without waiting for his response.
The next morning, Amaka arrived earlier than usual. She had one goal. To find someone on the inside who could confirm the file's accuracy. She needed someone who had seen the whispers form and evolve into shadows. Someone with a reason to finally step into the light. Her mind went back to the quiet woman from operations who had delivered that first batch of proof. She remembered the name scribbled on the folder's back flap. Adaeze Okonkwo.
Amaka found her sitting in the break room alone, stirring sugar into tea like it was a ritual.
"I need your help again," Amaka said gently, sliding into the seat across from her.
Adaeze did not look surprised.
"I thought you might," she said. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything," Amaka said. "From the beginning. Why did this start? Who gave the first order?"
Adaeze sighed. "It started before you even came back. When Chuka was named acting CEO. There were some who believed he was too young, too independent. Dayo was part of a group that wanted a tighter grip. They assumed Chuka would be easier to manage. But then you returned, and they saw a threat. Not just to power, but to their pattern. You represented something different. Someone with a voice. Someone with history."
"Who coordinated it?" Amaka asked.
Adaeze hesitated. "I should not say more."
"You already risked everything once," Amaka said. "Why stop now?"
Adaeze leaned closer. "Because this goes beyond the board. There are contracts. Shell companies. Backdoor deals approved without review. If you go digging, you will find money moving in strange ways. And if you expose them, you will not just be risking your job. You will be putting yourself in the line of fire."
Amaka's voice was quiet but firm. "They already targeted me. I am already standing in the fire."
Adaeze stared at her for a moment, then reached into her bag and pulled out a small flash drive.
"This has copies of communications I was asked to delete," she said. "Names. Numbers. File transfers. Some encrypted. Some not. I kept it because I knew one day someone would care."
Amaka took the drive. "Thank you."
As she left the room, the weight of what she held began to settle in. This was no longer a game of office rivalry. This was systemic. Financial. Legal. Dangerous.
Back in her office, she called Bola again. When he arrived, she handed him the drive without saying a word. He plugged it into her laptop and began scrolling. Within seconds, his eyes widened.
"There are links to offshore accounts," he said. "And internal approval documents signed with false timestamps. This is… this is major."
"Can you trace the origin?" Amaka asked.
"I will need time," he said. "But yes. And once I do, we will know exactly who is behind this."
"Keep it quiet," she said. "If anyone finds out we are digging, they will cover their tracks."
That night, Amaka sat on her couch, the city lights flickering through her window. She was not used to this kind of silence anymore. Not after the noise of the past few weeks. Her phone buzzed again. A new message from an unknown number. It read: You are getting too close. Do not make us finish what we started.
She stared at the screen, her fingers trembling for the first time. This was no longer subtle. No longer polite. This was a direct threat. And it meant they were feeling the heat. Which meant she was close. Closer than ever.
She saved the message, took a deep breath, and opened a new folder on her laptop. She titled it Unmasking.
Inside, she began placing everything. Every file. Every photo. Every conversation.
Because when the time came, she would not go to the board.
She would go public.