Chapter 7
The heavy oak front door hit the foyer floor with a resounding crash, sending a cloud of dust and splintered wood billowing into the hallway. The angry crowd surged forward into the entryway, their flashlights cutting erratic, blinding beams through the darkened house. Leading the charge was an older man with a weathered face and a worn gray jacket—Pastor Thomas, the spiritual pillar of Mama’s community and a man who had known David since he was a child.
"David Adebayo!" Pastor Thomas shouted, his voice ringing with a profound, sorrowful fury that carried far more weight than any physical threat. "Where is the money you promised to return by the first of the month? Sister Beatrice lost her pharmacy because of your lies!"
Mama slowly crawled out from beneath the dining table, her purple patterned dress stained with dust, her dignity thoroughly shattered. She stood up, leaning heavily against the back of her chair for support. She looked at Pastor Thomas, her lips trembling as she tried to find the words to defend a son who had become a monster.
"Pastor Thomas..." Mama whispered, her voice cracking. "Please... we did not know. I swear to you on my husband’s grave, I knew nothing of this."
Pastor Thomas stepped into the dining room, his eyes sweeping over the ruined window, the overturned chairs, and the uneaten food on the table. When his gaze landed on David, who was still cowering against the baseboard, the old man’s expression hardened into ice.
"We trusted you, Sister Grace," Pastor Thomas said softly, looking at Mama with deep sorrow. "You sat in the front pew every Sunday, boasting about your son’s brilliance. While you praised God for his blessings, he was picking the pockets of every widow and working family in our parish."
David finally found his voice, though it emerged as a desperate, pathetic squeak. He pushed himself up onto his knees, holding his hands out imploringly.
"Pastor, please! Give me two more weeks! I have a development deal closing in the capital. The liquidity is tied up, but once it clears, I will pay back every single cent with interest!"
"Liar!" a woman’s voice screamed from the hallway crowd. Sister Beatrice pushed her way past the front door, her eyes red with exhaustion and suppressed rage. She pointed a trembling finger directly at David. "You said the exact same thing three months ago when you convinced me to remortgage my shop! My entire life's work is gone, David! I am sleeping on my sister’s couch at sixty-two years old!"
The crowd murmured angrily, pressing further into the dining room. The atmosphere grew thick with volatile, unpredictable energy.
Marcus Vance subtly stepped in front of Maya, his hand resting near his coat pocket where a concealed security radio was clipped. But Maya gently placed a hand on Marcus’s arm, signaling him to stand down. She stepped past the broken glass on the floor, her gold silk dress gliding smoothly as she moved to the center of the room.
The crowd fell into a sudden, stunned silence, their attention shifting from the cowering debtor to the composed woman standing tall amidst the ruins of the dinner party.
"You want your money back?" Maya asked, her voice clear, steady, and commanding. "Every last cent?"
Sister Beatrice narrowed her eyes. "Who are you to make promises? You’re just his wife!"
Maya reached into the pocket of her dress, pulled out the embossed manila document Marcus had given her, and held it up for the entire room to see.
May you like
"I am not his wife much longer," Maya said coldly. "And as of nine minutes ago, I am the sole trustee of the Adebayo liquidation fund."
Before anyone could process her words, the front doorbell—hanging by a single wire from the ruined frame—rang loudly, startling everyone in the room.
