The humid air of Lagos felt heavy as we stepped out of the black SUV. Officer Tunde's warning was ringing in my ears. If the "Displaced Board" found the physical copy of the 365-day contract, they could use it to freeze the Swiss accounts by claiming the marriage was a fraudulent attempt to bypass inheritance laws.
"Xavier, think," Alexandra said, her voice low as we walked through the lobby of the Obinna Global headquarters. "Where would your grandfather have kept a backup of a document that sensitive? It wouldn't be in the main vault. That's too obvious."
"He was a man of tradition," I muttered, pressing the button for the penthouse floor. "He liked things hidden in plain sight. In Anambra, he kept his most important keys in an old Bible. Here... I'm not sure."
When we entered the office, the silence was unsettling. We began searching. I checked the hidden safes behind the paintings, and Alexandra scanned the digital archives, but we found nothing but standard business agreements.
"Wait," Alexandra suddenly whispered. She was standing by the bookshelf, looking at a framed photograph of my grandfather standing in front of the old girls' secondary school in Anambra. "He always talked about the 'Foundation of the Family.' Xavier, look at the frame."
I walked over and noticed a small, nearly invisible seam in the wood. I pressed it, and the back of the frame popped open. Inside was an old, yellowed envelope.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I pulled out the contents. It wasn't just the 365-day contract. It was a letter, handwritten by my grandfather on the day he signed the "Legacy Trust."
"To my grandson, Xavier. If you are reading this, it means the 365 days have taught you that a name is nothing without loyalty. This contract was a test, not a trap. If you have found a partner who stands by you without the promise of gold, then you have already won. Burn this paper. The only contract that matters now is the one written in your hearts."
I looked at Alexandra. She was silent, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. For a year, we had been terrified of this paper. We had lived in shadows, worried that someone would find out the truth about our "temporary" arrangement.
"He knew," I whispered. "He knew we would eventually become real."
"Xavier, someone's coming," Alexandra warned, pointing to the security monitor. A group of men in dark suits—Okoro's loyalists—were stepping out of the elevator. They weren't hiding anymore. They were coming for the truth.
I grabbed a lighter from the desk. "Let them come," I said. "There's nothing left for them to find."
I held the flame to the corner of the contract. We watched together as the ink turned to ash, the "365-day" clause vanishing into the Lagos breeze. When the office door burst open, I was standing tall, my arm around Alexandra.
"Can we help you, gentlemen?" I asked, my voice like iron. "Or are you here to resign in person?"