Chapter 4:
Ella's
The afternoon sun was fading, painting the dusty street with a deep, fading orange color, but the thoughts burning in my mind were far hotter and more intense.
King Enterprises.
I could still hear my father's voice echoing clearly from years ago:
"Nigeria is the next great chance for wealth, princess. If the financial numbers sing, we will definitely plant a flag there."
I remembered rolling my eyes at the time, far too busy choosing prom dresses and completely ignoring his business talk.
But now, that very flag he had spoken of—the company he built with hard work and brilliance—was not just a dream. It was suddenly my only path to survival and my only lifeline.
I quickly tightened the knot of the rough, borrowed scarf around my neck and turned purposefully toward the house. Loud, bright, and utterly fake laughter spilled out from the parlor, sounding like cheap, stale palm wine.
I knew those voices well. Vivian's shrill, sharp giggle. Mama's deep, smug, throaty chuckle. And his—Tunde's—deep, self-satisfied laugh.
The sheer sound of his laughter made my stomach violently twist with nausea and anger.
The last time I had heard it, it was paired with the brilliant sparkle of an engagement ring sliding onto my stepsister's finger. I crept closer to the main room, my bare feet moving silently across the cracked concrete floor.
"…King Enterprises just released the final announcement," Tunde was saying, his voice perfectly smooth and arrogant. "The top prize is an all-expense-paid trip to the U.S. headquarters. Double the usual salary. A permanent, secure contract."
Vivian squealed loudly, immediately clapping her hands together like a spoiled, entitled child. "I'm already packing my bags for America!"
I froze right there in the hallway. My name, my company, my inheritance—and now, my one true chance. I stepped decisively into the doorway. All four heads instantly turned in complete unison.
"Did you say King Enterprises?" My voice sliced straight through their lingering laughter like a piece of sharp glass.
Mama's eyes narrowed until they were thin, hard, sharp lines. "Who invited the house-girl into a grown-up conversation?" she sneered cruelly. "Get out."
I ignored her completely, my gaze fixed only on Tunde. "Take me to the interview," I commanded.
Vivian rose to her feet quickly, her colorful wrapper whispering loud threats as it brushed the floor.
"Oh, look at this," she said with a mockery of sweetness. "The rat has suddenly grown wings." She leaned close enough to me that I caught the distinctly sour tang of her cheap perfume. "Say just one more word, and I will personally clip those wings for good."
I smiled—a slow, dangerous expression that did not reach my eyes. "Try me."
The tension in the room thickened instantly, becoming heavy and suffocating.
Even Tunde's practiced smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by genuine curiosity. He leaned back slightly in his chair, carefully studying me like a difficult, unexpected puzzle.
I turned to face him fully, my shoulders squared with fresh determination. "Your name is Tunde, right? Tell me the exact address. I want that job."
Vivian let out a sharp gasp, her eyes wide with total disbelief. Mama threw her head back and began to laugh so hard that her wrapper completely slipped down her arm.
"This dirty little thing?" she scoffed, slapping her own knee loudly. "Working at King Enterprises? That company is strictly for university graduates, for people who wear suits and shiny shoes, not for poor street hawkers." She angrily jabbed her finger toward the door of the parlor. "Your office is outside—selling pure water sachets in the terrible traffic heat."
I took a deliberate step closer to them, calm and completely unshaken by her insults.
"I know far more about that company than both of you could ever know combined," I said softly, every single word precise and unwavering. "King Enterprises was founded by Desmond King in the New United States. His first wife died tragically of cancer. The second wife—Vivian King—systematically ruined the family's public reputation with her sheer greed."
Vivian's painted, smug smile finally cracked, falling away from her face.
"Their daughter, Chloe," I continued, my voice steady, "grew up spoiled and deeply shallow. But there was another girl—the real daughter, Ella King—who suddenly and completely disappeared. Some people said it was an accident. Some others said it was something much worse. The Nigeria branch was established soon afterward, as part of a major investment and a redemption plan designed to rebuild the brand's damaged image." I tilted my head slightly, my voice even and challenging. "The basic entry test? I could easily ace it blindfolded."
Silence dropped instantly, heavy and complete, like an electrical power cut.
No one moved in the tense room. No one dared to take a breath.
Vivian's mouth opened wide, then snapped shut again, utterly speechless. Mama's hand, clutching the fan, froze mid-flap, the fan hanging uselessly in the hot air.
I didn't look away from them. I let the absolute quiet stretch out until even the ceiling fan seemed to hold its circulating breath.
Finally, Tunde slowly stood up, his face now completely stripped of its usual arrogance. The playful charm that normally coated his voice was utterly gone. Instead, there was something new in his expression—caution, maybe even a profound sense of awe.
"Every single word you just said…" He took one slow, deliberate step toward me. "It is completely correct."
His eyes searched mine intensely, filled with puzzled suspicion and wariness. "How do you know that information?"