I'd never been to Eko Atlantic before.
I'd seen it from a distance the glass towers rising from reclaimed land like a city that decided the ocean wasn't using that space efficiently enough.
From the mainland it looked like a postcard. Up close it felt like a different country sharing a border with Lagos but operating by completely different rules.
The cab dropped me at the Meridian Tower entrance at 6:53 PM.
I stood on the pavement for a moment and took it in. The building was all glass and clean lines seventy floors of quiet corporate authority rising into a darkening sky. Men in suits moved through the revolving doors with the unhurried energy of people who'd never once had to rush for anything.
I straightened my jacket.
*You belong here,* the system said. *Walk like it.*
I walked like it.
The lobby was enormous. Marble floors that reflected the ceiling lights like still water. A reception desk running the full width of the far wall. Seating areas arranged in careful clusters low chairs, glass tables, the kind of furniture that was chosen by people paid specifically to choose furniture.
I found a seat facing the entrance and waited.
6:57 PM.
The system was unusually quiet. No commentary. No data feeds. Just a steady pulse behind my eyes like a heartbeat keeping time.
7:00 PM exactly.
He walked in.
I knew immediately not because he looked dangerous, but because he didn't. He looked like a retired professor. Late fifties. Medium height. A slim grey suit that matched his close cropped silver hair. Wire rimmed glasses. A leather document folder under one arm.
He moved through the lobby without looking around. Came directly to where I was sitting like he'd known exactly where I'd choose to wait.
He sat down across from me and placed the folder on the table between us.
Looked at me for a long moment.
"You're younger than I expected," he said. His voice was quiet and precise the voice of a man who never repeated himself.
"You're older than I expected," I said.
Something moved at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. "Mr. Grey," he said.
"Brandon."
"I know who you are Brandon." He opened the folder. "I've known since Meridian General."
He slid a photograph across the table. Grainy CCTV image a figure leaving through a service alley. Laptop bag. Early morning light.
Me.
"You have good cameras," I said.
"I have good people." He slid the photograph back into the folder. "The hospital was impressive. What you did in my building last night was more so." He folded his hands. "Eighty one percent detection threshold. Nine percent margin. Most professionals I know wouldn't have cut it that fine and come out clean."
*He was watching in real time,* the system said quietly. *The test wasn't just a test. It was an audition.*
"What's the job," I said.
He studied me for another moment. Then opened the folder again.
"Hehe"