“My name is not just Baba Akutu,” he said calmly. “That is what I allowed people to see.”
Soma was stunned.
“I don’t understand.”
“I came to Zima Town for a reason,” he continued. “Not as a poor man, but as a test.”
“A test?”
“Yes.”
Her mind raced.
“A test for what?”
“For character.”
The word hung in the air.
Before she could respond, footsteps approached.
A man stepped forward from the entrance of the main building. Tall, composed, dressed in quiet elegance that spoke louder than any flashy display. His presence filled the space without effort.
Soma’s breath caught again.
“This is my son,” Baba Akutu said.
The man nodded respectfully.
“My name is Alfred,” he said.
Soma felt the ground shift beneath her.
“Son? You have a son?” she asked, her voice barely steady.
Baba Akutu nodded.
“And everything you see here belongs to him.”
The truth unfolded slowly, painfully, completely.
Baba Akutu had never been poor. He was part of a powerful family that owned businesses across multiple cities. But wealth had made people dishonest around them—greedy, fake, desperate to impress.
So he chose a different approach.
