The sun had barely reached the skyline when Amaka's phone began buzzing. One message. Then another. Then a full stream. News was spreading, and not the internal kind. This was loud. This was public. She sat upright in bed, grabbed her phone, and opened the first message. It was a link to a blog post on a fast-rising investigative news site. The headline read:
"Exclusive: Corporate Corruption Tied to Foreign Shell Firms – Leaks Suggest Internal Collusion"
She felt the breath catch in her chest. She opened the article and scanned through the paragraphs. The report had details only someone from inside could have known. The shell companies in Dubai and Ghana were named, and though the company itself was not directly called out, the article provided enough breadcrumbs that any seasoned industry reader could follow the trail.
By the time she reached the end of the article, she had received fifteen missed calls. Most were from unknown numbers. Some were from board members. She ignored them all. Instead, she reached for her laptop and dialed Bola through the secure line.
"You have seen it?" he asked before she could speak.
"Yes," she answered. "Did we get hacked?"
"No," he replied. "I triple-checked. Our systems are clean. Whoever leaked this did not get it from us."
"Then it came from someone else with access to the auditors," Amaka concluded.
"There is more," Bola said. "Look at the last paragraph."
She scrolled quickly. Her eyes stopped when she saw the mention of a consulting firm based in Abuja. The reporter claimed to have traced one of the payment pathways to a company that, on the surface, offered brand strategy services. But it was linked to political lobbying and had been cited in another financial scandal three years ago.
"They just widened the net," Amaka said.
"Yes," Bola replied. "And now outsiders are officially part of the picture."
She closed her laptop and stood, pacing the room. This leak could either help them or destroy everything they had been building. If the wrong narrative caught fire, they would lose control.
She called Chuka next.
"I saw it," he said immediately. "Everyone has. I am heading in now."
"Meet me in the strategy room," she said. "We need to act before the media controls the direction."
She arrived first and was already sketching a damage control outline when Chuka walked in, his tie still undone and his expression grim.
"We have a choice," he said as he sat. "We either deny everything or guide the storm."
"I say we guide it," Amaka replied. "But we do not give away too much too fast."
Chuka nodded. "We issue a carefully worded statement. Acknowledge internal reviews, confirm a partnership with the external auditors, and denounce any affiliations with shell entities."
"And we avoid naming names," Amaka added. "Let the investigation remain the focus."
They worked quickly, drafting a joint release. Chuka contacted the company's legal team while Amaka coordinated with public relations. Every word was scrutinized. Every phrase was weighed. The final statement read:
"In light of recent publications circulating in the media, our company confirms that a thorough internal and external investigation is underway. We are committed to full transparency and accountability. At this time, no official conclusions have been reached, and we urge the public and stakeholders to allow the due process to continue without prejudice or speculation."
By noon, the statement was published on all official platforms. It was picked up by the same blog that had posted the leak and shared widely within the hour. The response was mixed. Some applauded the company's maturity. Others accused them of being vague. But one thing was clear. The narrative had not spiraled out of their hands. Yet.
Inside the building, the atmosphere shifted. Employees gathered in corners, talking in low tones. Department heads called impromptu meetings. The board remained unusually quiet, most likely scrambling behind closed doors.
Later that afternoon, Amaka received an encrypted message from Adaeze. It included a document with timestamps showing that the shell firm in Abuja had been mentioned during an informal board meeting six months ago. The meeting was never recorded. It had not been in the official schedule. But someone had taken notes. Adaeze had the file.
The notes were brief but telling. A proposal had been floated by an unnamed consultant about outsourcing strategic brand direction to a third-party agency. The agency's name matched the one from the leaked article.
"They planned this for months," Amaka said aloud as she stared at the screen.
Chuka looked up from across the room. "This was not an accident. They built it from the inside and masked it with outside polish."
"Then we are exposing it from the outside in," Amaka said. "Time to contact the journalist."
Chuka's eyes widened. "You are going to give them more?"
"No," she said. "I am going to correct their angle. If the story is already public, then we shape what comes next."
They reached out through an anonymous channel. The reporter responded within minutes. They agreed to a discreet call. Amaka handled it alone.
"You got part of the story," she said once the line connected. "But you are missing the bigger picture."
The reporter sounded calm. "Go on."
"This is not just about ghost firms," she said. "It is about manipulation. Money moved through these firms not only to steal, but to influence decisions. Internal decisions."
"You are saying it is deeper than fraud," the reporter said. "That it is structural."
"Exactly," Amaka confirmed. "But you need to be careful. If you publish without evidence, they will bury you and your platform."
"I have some of the evidence," he said. "But I need confirmation."
"Then ask the right questions," she said. "Look at the timing. Look at who joined the board recently. Who approved new vendor policies. Who traveled where before those approvals."
"And you will help me?"
"I will not feed you," Amaka replied. "But I will not stop you either."
She ended the call and stared at the ceiling for a moment. This was no longer about survival. It was about exposure. The company was at the center of a widening circle. And now, the world was watching.
Over the next few days, more reports surfaced. Quiet at first. Whispers in business columns. Mentions in financial newsletters. Then, a respected economic review site published a deep-dive article outlining the use of external firms in internal manipulations across multiple companies, subtly including theirs.
Public interest grew. Employees began receiving emails from old colleagues, asking questions. Shareholders called for clarity. Pressure mounted.
The chairman summoned an emergency board session.
This time, Amaka and Chuka walked in together. They did not sit apart. They chose the same side of the table, sending a message. The room was filled with tension, but it was not from fear. It was from the inevitable confrontation that everyone could feel coming.
The chairman spoke first.
"We are facing a public relations crisis. Our name is being dragged into stories that suggest criminal activity. We need to address this."
Amaka stood slowly.
"We already did," she said. "We began investigating when the first signs appeared. We kept the board informed. And we issued a public statement."
Dayo, who had managed to gain access again through legal loopholes, scoffed.
"You opened the doors," he said. "And now you are shocked the wolves walked in?"
"I opened the windows," Amaka replied. "Because the air inside was getting toxic."
"You have no proof," he argued. "These reports are speculative."
"They are based on facts," she said. "Facts that we verified."
The chairman raised a hand to calm the room.
"Enough. We are not here to argue. We are here to respond. What steps do we take to stabilize the company?"
Chuka stood now.
"We double down on transparency," he said. "We invite an independent review panel. We publish our findings. We prove that this company can clean itself."
The board murmured in disagreement.
"That could scare off investors," one member said.
"What scares them more is silence," Amaka countered. "If we do not tell our story, someone else will."
The chairman looked at her, then at Chuka, then back at the board.
"Let us vote," he said. "All in favor of proceeding with public disclosure of the investigation findings, raise your hand."
A pause followed. Then Chuka raised his hand. Amaka followed. One by one, hesitant hands joined them. The count was close. But the majority tipped in their favor.
After the meeting, Amaka and Chuka stood together in the corridor. The hallway was empty, but it echoed with unseen eyes.
"You think they will try to stop us?" she asked.
"They already did," he replied. "And they failed."
She nodded. "Then we finish what we started."
They walked side by side toward the elevators, knowing the next step would be their boldest yet.
The world was watching now.
And they were ready to be seen.