(Adams's POV)
The directive from Dr. Aisha was not a gentle suggestion; it was a command wrapped in an opportunity. Develop the full proposal. Forty-eight hours. The weight of it was a physical pressure in his chest, a familiar sensation he had once thrived on but now associated with the precipice of failure. This time, however, the fear was a clean fuel. It was the fear of not meeting her expectations, not the fear of total collapse.
He worked from home the next day, the small Gwarimpa apartment transforming into a war room. Mina moved through the space with a quiet understanding, keeping Chosen occupied, her occasional touch on his shoulder a silent vote of confidence. The domestic sounds—the soft gurgle of the baby, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables for dinner—were no longer distractions but the comforting rhythm of the life he was fighting for.
His focus was absolute. He built upon the skeleton of his initial idea, fleshing it out with surgical precision. He drafted talking points, identified specific, friendly journalists for the "controlled detonation," sketched a timeline that was both aggressive and plausible. He didn't just present a bold idea; he presented a machine, with every gear and lever accounted for.
But a grand strategy, no matter how brilliant, was just theory. Dr. Aisha, he knew, was a pragmatist. She would need proof of concept. She would need to see that he could not only design the furnace but also control the first, crucial spark.
The opportunity came from an unexpected and mundane source. The following morning, Habiba forwarded a minor internal complaint. The head of the IT department had sent a frustrated email about the new, "user-friendly" internal communications platform. It was slow, clunky, and morale was dipping. The PR department's standard response was a bland, corporate apology and a promise to "look into it." A nothingburger. A triviality.
Adams saw something else. He saw a perfect, low-stakes testing ground.
He went to the PR Director, a man named Bernard who still viewed him with thinly veiled skepticism. "Let me handle the IT platform complaint," Adams said, his tone neutral.
Bernard waved a dismissive hand. "It's a waste of time, Dared. Just send the standard 'we value your feedback' response."
"I have a different approach," Adams insisted. "A small experiment. If it backfires, the damage is minimal. If it works, it could be a model."
Bernard shrugged, eager to offload the trivial matter. "Suit yourself. But don't waste more than an hour on it."
Adams didn't need an hour. He needed twenty minutes. He drafted an email, but it was nothing like the standard corporate pap. The subject line was: "You're Right. The New Platform is a Disaster. Here's What We're Doing About It."
The body of the email was brutally honest. It acknowledged the slowness, the frustration, even quoted a few of the IT team's more colorful complaints. Then, it pivoted. "We bought this platform because it promised to make your lives easier. It failed you. So, we're doing two things. First, we're rolling back to the old system effective immediately. Second, we're forming a tiger team—led by volunteers from your department—to help us choose the right system. You're the experts. We're listening."
He didn't ask Bernard for approval. He CC'd Dr. Aisha and Bernard, and hit send.
The reaction was instantaneous. For the first ten minutes, there was silence. Then, a reply-all from a senior IT manager: "Finally! Someone who listens! Count me in for the tiger team." Another chimed in: "A rollback? Seriously? This is the best news I've heard all week." The email chain exploded with gratitude and offers to help. What had been a simmering grievance transformed into a wave of positive engagement.
Bernard appeared at Adams's office door, his face a mixture of shock and annoyance. "Dared, what did you do? My inbox is flooded."
"I solved the problem," Adams said simply, not looking up from his screen.
"But the protocol… the approval process… you can't just—"
"The protocol was causing the problem," Adams interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "The goal was to restore morale and fix the system. The email achieved both in under an hour. The old platform is already being reinstated."
Bernard stared at him, speechless. He was a man who lived by process, and Adams had just demonstrated that results could trump it.
An hour later, Adams's desk phone rang. The internal line display showed 2500. The 25th floor.
He picked it up. "Adams Dared."
There was a pause, then Dr. Aisha's voice, cool and measured. "The IT email."
Adams's heart hammered against his ribs. "Yes, Hajiya Doctor."
"An interesting approach," she said. He could hear the faint click of a keyboard in the background. "Unorthodox. High-risk for a minor issue."
He waited, saying nothing. Defending it would be weakness.
Another pause. "It was also the correct approach. You turned a complaint department into an opportunity for co-creation. You gave them agency. You turned critics into collaborators."
He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"Bernard is uncomfortable," she continued, a hint of amusement in her tone. "Good. Discomfort precedes growth. This was a small project, Mr. Dared. But it proves you understand the principle. Execution is what separates a strategist from a dreamer. You have executed."
The line went dead.
Adams placed the phone back in its cradle. His hands were steady. A slow, deep sense of satisfaction spread through him, warmer than any triumph he'd felt at the height of his previous career. This was different. This wasn't about winning a deal or beating a competitor. This was about validating a new way of being. He had taken a calculated risk based on a core philosophy—transparency and empowerment over control and obfuscation—and it had worked.
He looked at the detailed Eagle proposal on his screen. The grand, audacious plan no longer felt like a theoretical gamble. It felt like the next logical step. He had proven he could successfully execute a small project. He had proven his skill not with a grand speech, but with a single, perfectly aimed email. Dr. Aisha had noticed his mind in the meeting. Now, she had seen his hand in action. The strategic genius was no longer just potential; it was operational. And the entire company, whether they knew it or not, was about to become his canvas.