Chapter 60 The unexpected door

Chapter 60 The unexpected door


Richard’s POV

I straightened my tie in the elevator mirror and exhaled slowly.

Today was the reason I had flown thousands of miles from home. From Jocelyn. From everything that mattered.

Today had to go well.

The conference room on the fourteenth floor of the Eko Atlantic Business Tower was already occupied when I arrived. Eight men seated around a long mahogany table, all in sharp suits, all wearing the particular expression of people who had already made up their minds but were too polite to say so immediately.

I recognized the lead investor, Mr. Taiwo Bankole, from our previous correspondence. Mid-sixties, silver-haired, commanding. He greeted me with a firm handshake and directed me to the head of the table.

“Mr. Asher, we’ve reviewed your proposal thoroughly,” he began once everyone was settled.

“Thank you for the time invested,” I replied.

The presentation had already been submitted. This meeting was purely for final deliberation and the signing of terms. Or so I’d believed.

Bankole folded his hands on the table.

“Your infrastructure model is impressive. Genuinely impressive,” he said. “And under different circumstances, this would be an easy decision.”

I felt it before he said it. That particular shift in atmosphere, the way everyone at the table suddenly found their water glasses interesting.

“However,” Bankole continued, “the board met last evening and reached a unanimous decision. The geopolitical climate surrounding cross-continental investment partnerships has become considerably more complex in recent months. We’ve decided to pause all new external partnerships until Q3 of next year.”

Silence.

I sat perfectly still, my face composed, my hands flat on the table.

“We hope you understand that this is not a reflection of your proposal’s quality. Truly, Mr. Asher, the work is exceptional.”

“I appreciate the transparency,” I said evenly.

And that was it. After handshakes and polite smiles and promises of future consideration that everyone in the room knew meant nothing, I walked out of that conference room alone.

The elevator doors closed in front of me and I stood there, staring at my own reflection in the mirrored walls.

I lost the contract.

After all the preparations, the flights, the nights away from Jocelyn. Armand’s insufferable cheerfulness and Christine’s wandering hands. The egusi soup and the pepper soup and the genuine excitement of the night before.

All of it, and the answer was no.

I loosened my tie slightly and pressed the ground floor button.

“One sided love is not love.”

Armand’s words surfaced again, uninvited. And with them came the doubts I’d been fighting all week. What if I returned home to find that everything I’d built with Jocelyn was as fragile as this contract? What if the paternity test confirmed something I wasn’t ready to face?

What if I was fighting for a future that only existed in my own head?

The elevator opened to the lobby.

I walked through it with measured steps, nodding at the receptionist, pushing through the glass doors into the thick Lagos afternoon heat.

My driver was already waiting. I had one hand on the car door when I heard my name.

“Mr. Asher.”

I turned.

It was the ambassador from the party. 
In the daylight he looked even more composed, dressed in a crisp cream agbada that somehow managed to look both traditionally authoritative and sharply modern. He was accompanied by a single aide who hung back respectfully.

“I heard the Bankole meeting didn’t proceed as hoped,” he said without preamble.

I studied him. “Word travels fast.”

“In these circles, it always does.” He smiled, unhurried. “Do you have a moment? There’s a terrace restaurant on the third floor of this building. Allow me ten minutes of your time.”

I considered him for a beat, then released the car door.

“Ten minutes,” I said.

The terrace overlooked the Atlantic Ocean, and the breeze off the water was a relief after the stuffiness of the conference room. We sat across from each other at a small table while his aide remained by the entrance.

A waiter appeared and the ambassador ordered fresh palm wine for both of us without asking. I didn’t object.

“I’ll be direct,” he said once the waiter left. “My country has been watching the Asher Group for some time. Your expansion model, particularly the digital productivity framework you presented yesterday, solves a problem we have been trying to address for the better part of three years.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

“Youth unemployment sitting at thirty-eight percent,” he said. “A generation of brilliant, educated young people with no meaningful entry point into the formal economy. Your model doesn’t require them to relocate, doesn’t require massive capital from families who have none. It meets them exactly where they are.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“We’re not a corporation, Mr. Asher. We’re a government. And we’re prepared to offer you something Bankole’s board never could—a sovereign partnership. Full governmental backing, tax incentives across the board, dedicated infrastructure support, and a guaranteed pilot program across three of our major cities within the first six months.”

I looked at him steadily.

“In return,” he continued, “the Asher Group becomes our exclusive development partner for the digital economy initiative over the next five years. Renewable, pending mutual satisfaction.”

The palm wine arrived. I lifted my glass slowly, thinking.

Five years. Sovereign backing. Three cities.

This was not what I had come to Lagos for.

This was considerably larger than what I had come to Lagos for.

“You understand I’d need to review the specific terms with my legal team before any commitment,” I said.

“Of course. I would expect nothing less from a man of your caliber.” He reached into his jacket and produced a slim card and a sealed envelope. “My office has prepared a preliminary terms document. Consider it a starting point for conversation.”

I took both.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Please.”

“Why approach me now? After a rejection from another party? The optics could suggest you’re taking advantage of a vulnerable moment.”

He smiled genuinely, the kind that came from finding something unexpectedly good.

“Because I watched you at that party last night,” he said. “Surrounded by every temptation Lagos knows how to offer, and you sat in that corner and sipped your wine and talked to me about youth productivity like a man who has something real to go home to.” He paused. “I don’t do business with men who have nothing to lose. I do business with men who have everything to protect. Those men are reliable.”

Something shifted in my chest.

I thought of Jocelyn. Of her face pressed against my shoulder. Of the way she’d gripped my hands at the airport like she was afraid the ground might swallow me if she let go.

I don’t want to lose you.

She had whispered it so softly I’d almost missed it.

“I have something to go home to,” I said quietly, more to myself than to him.

“Then go home to it,” he replied simply, “and have your lawyers call mine.”

We shook hands across the table.

By the time I reached the hotel to collect my luggage, Armand was awake, nursing what was clearly a devastating headache and wearing sunglasses indoors.

“How did the meeting go?” he asked, squinting in my direction.

“The Bankole contract fell through,” I said.

He winced in sympathy. “Sorry man.”

“Don’t be.” I picked up my bag. “I got something better.”

He stared at me from behind his sunglasses, processing this information with the sluggishness of a man whose brain was still forty percent alcohol.

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

He let out a low whistle. “Only you, Richard. Only you.”

I almost smiled. “Get some water, Armand. And call your wife.”

He groaned as I walked out.

At the airport, I switched my phone off flight mode and dialed before I’d even found my gate.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Richard?” Her voice was thick with worry she was trying to disguise as casualness.

“I’m at the airport,” I said. “I’m coming home.”

A pause. Then a soft exhale that sounded like relief being released from somewhere very deep.

“How did the meeting go?” she asked.

I thought of Bankole’s polished rejection. Of the terrace overlooking the ocean. Of the ambassador’s words sitting in my chest like something permanently lodged.

I do business with men who have something real to go home to.

“It went exactly the way it was supposed to,” I said.

Another pause. I could almost see her face, the small frown forming as she tried to decode my tone.

“I’ll tell you everything when I get home,” I said. “How are you? How’s the baby?”

“We’re fine,” she said softly. “Just… come home.”

“I’m already on my way,” I said.

I boarded the plane with the ambassador’s envelope in my jacket pocket, Armand’s words fading somewhere behind me, and one thought sitting quietly at the front of everything.

One-sided love is not love.

But what Jocelyn and I had, whatever it was, however complicated, however uncertain, felt nothing like one side.

It felt, for the first time in a very long time, like something real.

And I was going home to it.