Chapter Eighteen: After the Burial

There is something unsettling about attending your own burial.

Not physically... But through the eyes of the world.

Three days after the announcement of my death, my family held a private funeral service.

Very few people knew the truth.

My adopted mother, Bukunmi, The young man who had risked his life to warn me.

The family doctor who signed the necessary documents under strict confidentiality.

And the pastor who officiated the service.

To everyone else...

Olaoshebikan Clement Enitan was dead.

The funeral was attended by governors, senators, business moguls, traditional rulers, clergymen, and thousands of employees whose lives I had touched over the years.

Tributes poured in from every corner of the country.

Some remembered me as a philanthropist.

Others remembered me as a businessman.

Many simply remembered me as a man who never ignored the cry of the needy.

Hidden away in my safe house, I watched every moment on television.

Every hymn. Every prayer. Every tear.

I watched as my portrait stood beside the casket prepared for a man who was still alive.

I watched as people struggled to hold back their emotions.

I watched my daughters cry until they could cry no more.

Each tear they shed pierced my heart.

Then came the moment that almost broke me completely.

Bukunmi walked to the podium to deliver her tribute.

Dressed in black, she held the microphone with trembling hands.

She paused several times, fighting back tears.

"My husband..."

Her voice cracked.

"You were my greatest blessing."

"You loved me beyond words."

"You loved our daughters with everything you had."

She stopped to wipe away her tears.

"I never imagined I would have to say goodbye this soon."

The congregation wept with her. Only she knew that every word carried two meanings.

She wasn't saying goodbye forever.

She was saying goodbye to the life we once knew.

When she finally stepped down, my adopted mother slowly made her way to the altar.

She looked older. Much older.

"My son came into my life with nothing," she began softly.

"But he gave meaning to my life."

"He called me 'Mum' when I had no reason to expect it."

"I raised him because I believed God had a purpose for him."

She paused.

"I only wish...... he had listened to one warning I kept giving him as a child."

Her words lingered in the air.

Many assumed she was simply speaking from grief.

Only a handful understood what she truly meant.

As the service drew to an end, mourners filed past the casket one after another to pay their final respects.

Andrew stood quietly in the line.

When it was his turn, he rested his hand on the polished wood for several seconds.

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

"My brother..."

he whispered.

"I'm sorry."

Whether those tears were genuine or born from guilt, no one could tell.

He remained there for a long moment before quietly walking away.

Outside the church, people gathered in small groups, sharing memories of me.

Employees cried openly.

Some of my old classmates spoke about my humility despite my wealth.

Others praised my generosity.

Eventually, the funeral procession came to an end.

The casket was lowered into the prepared grave.

Prayers were offered.

Flowers covered the earth.

And just like that...

The world buried Olaoshebikan Clement Enitan.

Days passed after the funeral.

Life slowly returned to normal for everyone else.

But not for those closest to me.

The mansion in Abuja became unusually quiet.

Tolulope no longer laughed as often.

Toluwani still slept with one of my shirts clutched tightly against her chest because it still carried my scent.

Bukunmi forced herself to smile for the girls each day, but every night she cried silently into her pillow.

My adopted mother remained their greatest source of strength, reminding them that God never abandoned His children, even when life made no sense.

Andrew visited regularly.

Sometimes alone. Sometimes with Chinelo and Ethan.

He comforted my family, attended to visitors, and even helped oversee some company matters as though he were honouring the memory of his best friend.

Everyone praised him.

"Clement couldn't have asked for a better friend."

"What a loyal man."

"He's standing by the family through their darkest hour."

Each compliment made Bukunmi's heart ache.

She would simply nod, unable to reveal the truth.

Far away, hidden from the eyes of the world, I watched everything through news reports and updates from the few people I trusted.

Every passing day strengthened my resolve.

I had not disappeared out of fear.

I had disappeared for justice.

Andrew believed I was gone.

The world believed I was buried.

That belief would become my greatest weapon.

Because the dead are never expected to return.

And when they do... The guilty have nowhere left to hide.