EPISODE TWO

“Have you seen my sister recently?”

Daniel didn't even look at the phone.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

I stared at him.

The shower was still running behind me, steam curling faintly into the room. He stood there in nothing but a shirt, the towel hanging loosely around his neck, looking almost too calm for a man whose girlfriend had just shown him a photograph of himself standing beside her sister.

Daniel finally looked at me.

“What?”

I turned the phone around.

His eyes dropped to the screen.

For half a second, something flickered across his face.

Then it was gone.

He sighed.

“I knew you were going to see that eventually.”

My stomach tightened.

“See what?”

He sat down on the edge of the couch.

“Your sister contacted me.”

“Why?”

“She wanted my help with something.”

“What something?”

He hesitated.

Then looked at me.

“Your birthday.”

I blinked.

“My birthday?”

“She wanted to plan something.”

I stared at him.

“My birthday isn't for another few weeks.”

“I know.”

“So why are you meeting her?”

“Because she wanted it to be a surprise.”

I folded my arms.

“You couldn't have told me?”

“Then it wouldn't be a surprise.”

Something about the way he said it made me look at him again.

But I looked back at the photograph instead.

“When was this taken?”

Daniel glanced at the screen.

“Three days ago.”

My eyes lifted to his.

“And you didn't think to mention that my sister had been meeting you?”

“She asked me not to.”

I laughed once.

“So the two of you are secretly planning my birthday?”

“Yes. And that's it.”

His expression hardened slightly.

“What else could there be?”

I wanted to answer.

But I couldn't.

I had nothing to say.

I handed him his phone.

“Fine.”

He took it.

Then reached for my hand.

I let him.

Daniel left for work the next morning.

I watched his car disappear through the window before turning away.

Then I went about my morning.

Or at least, I tried to.

I made coffee.

Ate breakfast.

Put on a movie I barely watched.

Every now and then, my mind drifted back to the photograph.

Then I dismissed it.

You're being paranoid.

Daniel had given me an explanation.

A reasonable one.

And after seven years, I knew him well enough to know when something was actually wrong.

At least, I thought I did.

My laptop had started acting up that morning, so I decided to use Daniel's.

I was working remotely and had a report to finish before noon.

His laptop was already on the table.

I opened it, connected my files, and settled into the couch with my coffee.

The movie was still playing in the background when a banking notification appeared on the screen.

I almost ignored it.

Then I saw the amount.

₦30,000,000.00

I stopped typing.

I stared at the screen.

Then looked at the date.

I read it again.

₦30,000,000.00

Thirty million naira.

My fingers remained still on the keyboard.

Daniel had always taken care of things.

Rent.

Bills.

Unexpected expenses.

There were years of receipts and payments I had never questioned because, as far as I knew, he was simply doing well.

But this wasn't his salary account.

This was another one.

An account I had never heard about.

I scrolled.

Another transfer.

Another date.

Another amount.

Then another.

Different figures.

Same source.

The transfers went back further than I expected.

Months.

Then years.

I sat back slowly.

Where was all this money coming from?

I picked up my phone and called him.

He answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey, babe.”

“Daniel.”

Something in my voice made him pause.

“What happened?”

“What's this account?”

There was silence.

“The account that received thirty million.”

“Oh.”

“What's it for?”

“Work.”

“Work?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of work pays thirty million into an account?”

He sighed.

“It's not my salary. It's an investment account.”

“Since when?”

“Why?”

“Because I'm asking you.”

“Can we talk about this when I get home?”

“No, Daniel. How long have you had it?”

Another silence.

“Years.”

I frowned.

“How many years?”

“I don't remember.”

That answer bothered me more than the money.

Daniel remembered everything.

Dates.

Names.

Numbers.

Everything.

But somehow, he couldn't remember how long he had been receiving millions into an account I'd never known existed.

“Who sends you the money?”

“It's complicated.”

“Then make it simple.”

“I'm at work. I'll explain when I get home.”

The call ended.

I stared at my phone.

Daniel had never hung up on me like that.

My sister and I had already planned to meet that afternoon.

We sat across from each other at a small café, two untouched cups of coffee between us.

She looked at me.

“You look terrible.”

I pushed my phone across the table.

She looked at the photograph.

Then looked back at me.

“You knew.”

Her face changed.

“Knew what?”

“You've been meeting Daniel.”

She stared at me for a moment.

Then looked away.

“What did he tell you?”

“That you were planning something.”

She said nothing.

I leaned forward.

“Then tell me what is actually going on.”

She shook her head.

“I can't.”

“Why?”

She looked at me.

“Ask Daniel about the account.”

I frowned.

“What account?”

She picked up her bag.

“Ask him.”

“That's it?”

She stood.

“I've said enough.”

“Enough for what?”

But she was already walking away.

I watched her leave.

And for the first time that day, I knew one thing for certain.

Whatever Daniel was hiding from me

my sister knew about it.

By the time I got home, Daniel still wasn't there.

I sat alone in the living room.

The television was on.

The conversation with my sister kept replaying in my head.

Ask Daniel about the account.

I closed my eyes.

Maybe I was making too much of everything.

Maybe there was a perfectly ordinary explanation.

Maybe I just needed something else to occupy my mind.

So I went to the storage room.

I hadn't opened the old boxes in years.

There were memories in there I had spent most of my life trying not to touch.

Old clothes.

School things.

Birthday cards.

Photographs.

I pulled out one of the boxes and sat on the floor.

I began turning through the photographs.

Slowly.

One after another.

A birthday.

A school ceremony.

My mother.

Me as a little girl.

I kept turning.

Then I stopped.

The photograph was older than the others.

My mother looked younger.

I was little.

And beside her sat a man I didn't recognize.

I turned the photograph over.

A date was written faintly at the back.

2009.

Beneath it, almost faded into the paper, were four words:

Everything changed that night.

I turned it over again.

My eyes moved slowly across the photograph.

Then I stopped.

On the man's left hand was a dark tattoo.

My fingers went cold.

I stared at it once.

Twice.

A third time.

I knew that tattoo.

My lips parted.

No....