The story continues in Chapter Two...

Later that afternoon, I had to drive down to Yaba to collect some specialized industrial fittings from an old supplier I had worked with during my early days.

As my sleek, brand-new utility truck pulled up near the old residential complex where Femi and I had briefly lived, I saw a familiar figure standing near the bus stop in the sweltering heat.

It was Femi.

He was wearing a faded polo shirt and worn-out trousers, holding a heavy stack of orange safety vests. As part of his court-mandated plea agreement, he had been sentenced to two thousand hours of public community service, cleaning municipal roads and managing traffic.

His car was gone. His bank job was gone. His luxury apartment was gone. He was living in a small rented room in Ebute Metta, surviving on a junior clerk's salary while paying off his court fines.

I pulled my truck up to the curb, letting the engine idly hum.

Femi turned, wiping sweat from his forehead with a rag. When his eyes landed on me sitting in the driver's seat of my new company vehicle—looking sharp, confident, and utterly successful—he froze.

For a long, painful moment, neither of us said a word.

"Bolu," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of shame and lingering awe. "You... you look amazing."

"Hello, Femi," I said politely, my voice warm, steady, and completely devoid of malice. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm... I'm surviving," Femi said, looking down at his orange safety vest. "I work six days a week. I'm trying to pay off my legal debts. I think about what I did to you every single day, Bolu. I was so blind. I had a queen by my side, and I traded her for fool's gold."

I looked at him, feeling no anger, no satisfaction in his downfall—only a deep, quiet realization of how much I had grown.

"You didn't trade me, Femi," I said gently. "You just didn't know how to value something real because you were too busy chasing illusions. I hope you learn from this. Truly."

I reached into my bag, pulled out a business card, and handed it to him through the window.

"If you ever finish your community service hours and need a honest job doing basic bookkeeping at my logistics depot, call my hiring manager," I said. "Everyone deserves a second chance to build a real life."

Femi took the card with trembling fingers, tears welling up in his eyes. "Bolu... after everything I did to you... why would you do that for me?"