No. I’m Not

No. I’m Not
The man in the black tactical suit adjusted the earpiece snug against his ear before answering. “We’ve tracked her to Africa, sir. We know for sure her and her companions flew out that way— but where exactly she is in Africa, we still don’t know. Our operatives are working the grid day and night. We should have a location by this time next week.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes, then gave a single, slow nod. “Good.”

The man moved quickly, pulling the chopper’s door open with a metallic thud.

Carlos stepped in without another word, his frame disappearing into the dark interior. One by one, his men followed. The last one slammed the door shut.

Within seconds, the rotors roared to top speed— screaming, slicing wind in every direction. The chopper lifted from the yacht’s deck like a mechanical predator, spinning up into the Manhattan skyline, carrying vengeance into the clouds.

\--------------------

A Week Later. Lagos, Nigeria— Cynthia’s POV...

Cynthia sat quietly in the backseat of the old, partly painted yellow and light blue Lagos taxi, the car's frame rattling slightly as it dodged potholes on the sun-scorched road. Her hand absentmindedly rubbed the gentle curve of her five-month belly.

“Sir, please… when we get there, let me know,” she said softly, her voice layered with weariness.

The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his forehead glistening with sweat under his traditional cap. “I will, oyinbo. We go reach in a few minutes,” he replied, nodding reassuringly.

“Thank you,” Cynthia muttered and leaned her head gently against the warm glass of the back door window, blinking slowly as she stared out at the chaotic blur of Agege— street vendors shouting, yellow danfos honking, roadside barbers trimming hair under makeshift umbrellas.

The driver cleared his throat. “What brings you to this part, oyinbo? You come visit family?”

Cynthia’s brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean when you say that word... oyeeeenboh?” she asked, mimicking his pronunciation with a curious smirk. “Everyone calls me that, and I haven’t had the chance to ask.”

“It means… beautiful white woman, ma,” he replied, eyes still focused on the road.

“Ohhh,” Cynthia nodded, her lips curling into a small smile. “That’s… surprisingly sweet.” She chuckled. “And no, I’m not here for family. Just… vacation.”

“Ehen. Okay,” the driver said, sounding unconvinced. “We don't have your people around often. Maybe na because of how the weather dey. The sun here fit roast person.”

“My people?” Cynthia echoed playfully, her accent soft but teasing, an eyebrow raised.

“Ah— I no mean am that way, o. No vex. English no be my first language,” the driver quickly explained, chuckling nervously. “Just take am as I talk am.”

“It’s alright. I get what you mean,” she replied, her smile faint but present. “The heat’s been a lot. But I’ve managed so far. It’s been two weeks.”

“Hmmm. You go don go back before the baby arrive o,” the driver said casually, tossing his head toward the dashboard fan that buzzed uselessly.

Cynthia’s head snapped upright. “Why’d you say that?”

“I just talk based on what you say. You say na vacation, so… you no go stay long, na.”

“Oh,” she exhaled, leaning back again. “That’s true.”

A minute later, the cab slowed to a stop beside a low cream-colored building surrounded by a tall black gate— Agege Hotel & Suites in fading gold letters above the gate.

“We don reach,” the driver announced.

Cynthia peered out the window. She could see the hotel entrance just across the road. “Thank you. How much is it?”

The driver caught her gaze again in the rearview mirror and smiled. “Nothing. I no dey charge you.”

Her mouth parted slightly in surprise. “What? I don’t understand,” she said, digging into her purse instinctively.

“No worry. I just no wan collect. Maybe na God say make I help person today.”

A slow smile formed on Cynthia’s lips. “That’s… very kind. Thank you. I appreciate it. Truly.”

She pushed open the door and stepped out into the buzzing street, the sun heavy on her skin.

“Make I help you cross?” the driver called out. “This road no dey safe like that.”

Cynthia had already begun jogging across, weaving between danfos and okadas like a local. “I’ll be fine! Thank you!” she called over her shoulder.

The driver watched until she safely reached the other side, then drove off.

Cynthia walked to the pedestrian gate and greeted the uniformed gateman— a tall, dark-skinned man with tribal marks faintly lining his cheeks.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “I’m here for a job interview.”

The man stared for a moment, stunned by her appearance. “Oyinbo? Job interview?” He scratched his head, a grin spreading across his face. “Follow me, ma.”

He signaled the hotel security guard a few feet away. “Abeg, I dey come.”

“Oya na,” the other guard replied, waving lazily.

Cynthia followed him through the compound, her sandals slapping lightly against the tiled pavement. They entered the lobby— its walls covered in marble-like wallpaper, the ceiling a glass panel that bathed the room in natural light.

“You fit sit here,” the gateman said, gesturing toward a red couch. “Person go come meet you.”

“Thank you,” Cynthia said as she lowered herself onto the couch, adjusting her dress to sit comfortably around her baby bump.

A few minutes passed before a petite woman in a tailored navy suit entered the lobby, holding a slim file. She walked directly up to Cynthia.

“You must be Ms. Wills. I’ve seen your email,” she said.

“Yes, I am,” Cynthia replied politely, sitting upright.

The woman’s eyes then .dropped to Cynthia’s belly, her expression faltering slightly. “You’re… expecting?”

“Yes. But it won’t affect my performance, I promise,” Cynthia said quickly.

There was a pause. The woman studied her face for a few seconds, then nodded.

“If you say it won’t be a problem, then… the supervisor job is yours.”

Cynthia blinked. “Seriously? No test? No interview?”

The woman smiled faintly. “No need. You have the credentials. And we need someone immediately.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this. I swear,” Cynthia said, her face glowing.

“You can start next week,” the woman said, then turned to leave but paused at the door. She looked back, studying Cynthia’s face with curiosity.

“You know… you look really familiar. Like I’ve seen you on TV before or something. Are you… famous? Or maybe married to someone famous?”

Cynthia’s heartbeat spiked. Her lips tightened into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“No. I’m not,” she lied calmly.

The woman nodded slowly, gave her one last glance, and exited.

Left alone, Cynthia pressed a hand to her belly. Her smile faded. The room suddenly felt a bit too quiet.

But at least she had a job now. A new beginning— however long it lasted.