𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚗.

Chapter 9

Damola ran a hand over his face. It'd been the umpteenth time he had done that, in two minutes. If there was a word larger, and much more greater than the word 'nervous', then that was what he was feeling at the moment. Everyone knew Mr. Uche Asogwa was a no-nonsense man, and he hated being annoyed. Making him angry was as good at raging war against Russia. And even Damola couldn't shove this truth aside. And though he tried his best to keep his anxiety at bay, it gnawed at his throat and he felt a wave of uneasiness sweep through his insides.

Kunmi had already gone, and he and Chelsea were already seated at the outdoor pool in Terry's hotel. According to Chelsea, her father was to meet them there. And she was definitely sure that this meeting wouldn't go well. "What's taking so long?" The urgency in Damola's words, made Chelsea aware of the nervousness he felt. Chelsea really wished he wasn't coming. She knew how inconsiderate he could be, and she knew he was already tired of waiting for hers and Damola's wedding to be finalized. He needed to secure the partnership with Terry's company, by ensuring that his son got married to his daughter, Chelsea. And he felt Damola's nonchalance was irritating. As it were, he wasn't getting any younger. He yearned to see his daughter get married, and with the way things were going, he was in doubt that Damola would ever end up marrying Chelsea. And that was why he had to bring out the big guns. He had to seal the deal, even if he had to do with his own hands. He had taken his time to board a first class flight down to Abuja, and he was sure he wouldn't leave until the date for their marriage would be finalized. If Damola thought he could escape this, then he must've been incredibly mistaken. He had no choice, because Mr. Uche Asogwa could literally bring a man to his knees.

He had massive connections, and his businesses were doing way better than Terry's. He was way more influential than Terry, and a single phone call could pin everything Terry had been working for. Yes, Terry was incredibly rich. Terry was equally a well-known billionaire who had the money at his beck and call, but Mr. Uche was way richer. And he had more connections, both within the governmental range, and out. That was just how powerful he was.

And as it were, money was power. Money could sideline a lot of things, and money could bag all of a man's interests. Then, it was safe to say that Mr. Uche was referred to as a special citizen. It was unspoken truth, that they were three kinds of citizens in a country. The first; being Mr. Uche's kind of people, who could twist the law in their favor, and literally score the title as a bender, with the way they would so twist the law and change it from what it was, to what it wasn't. The second; was Mr. Terry's kind of people, who had all the money, but wasn't just as rich and powerful, as the special citizens. And last, were those referred to as the 'low-class citizens'. The ones who'd stand at a queue, and be sidelined when a special citizen walks through. Just by dipping a hand into his robust pocket, and slipping a few naira notes into the hands of one of the staffs. Then, just like magic, such special citizen — although late, or probably hadn't been part of the queue — would be given immediate attention, and be given special treatment. It was a pity, yes. But what could one do? After all, poverty was an insult on its own. And not having money, could make the rich stare at a poor man, like he was a piece of trash, meant to be incinerated.

"I really don't know. He wasn't saying much to me. All I know is that he'll be here, soon." Chelsea finally replied, and Damola leaned into his seat, and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

He still couldn't believe this was all happening. He still hadn't forgotten how brutal Mr. Uche had been with him, the last time he had met him. That was an encountered he would never forget. One that imprinted its deadly palms into the shell of his memory. "I still don't get why he wants to see me." He murmured, under his breath, and folded his arms in annoyance. Last time he checked, Chelsea's father was a ruthless man.

Chelsea refused to say anything. And she had made a silent promise to herself that she wouldn't let this meeting get to her head. But the reverse was, in fact, the case.