Chapter 8 - The Midnight Break-In-8
The night air was cold and heavy with humidity as my work van tore through the quiet streets from Surulere back toward Yaba.
When we pulled up to the residential complex, the building was largely dark, save for the flickering light of the fourth-floor living room window—our apartment. Parked in the shadow of the driveway was a black tinted SUV with its engine idling softly.
"That's Funmi’s vehicle," I whispered, cutting the headlights of my van and coasting to a stop near the perimeter wall.
"What's the plan?" Ada whispered beside me, clutching her iron rod in her lap.
"The main building elevator requires an access card, but I installed the secondary fire escape ladder on the north side of the building three months ago," I said, reaching into the back of the van and pulling out my heavy leather tool belt. "We go up through the utility balcony, enter through the kitchen window, grab the ledger from the study safe, and get out before anyone knows we were there."
We crept through the shadows of the parking lot, dodging the security guard who was sound asleep in his guard booth near the front gate. We reached the iron fire escape ladder. I climbed first, my steel-toed boots making no sound on the metal rungs, with Ada right behind me.
We reached the fourth-floor utility balcony. The small window leading into the kitchen—the very kitchen where I had been fixing the leaking pipe just forty-eight hours ago—was slightly ajar.
I slid the window open smoothly, stepped onto the tile counter, and dropped quietly onto the kitchen floor.
Inside the apartment, raised, heated voices were echoing from the living room.
"Sign it, Femi! Sign it right now or you won't live to see the sunrise!" Funmi’s voice snarled, completely devoid of her earlier aristocratic polish.
"I'm not signing this!" Femi’s voice wept out, trembling with sheer terror. "This document says I organized the illegal customs bypass! It says I used your company's name without your knowledge! This carries a twenty-year prison sentence!"
"You think you have a choice?" a heavy, gravelly male voice boomed. "Look at me, boy. You sign the paper, or we toss you off this fourth-floor balcony and leave a suicide note."
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Through the cracked kitchen door, I peeked into the living room.
Femi was on his knees, his nose bleeding, his shirt torn. Standing over him was a tall, heavily built man in a leather jacket holding a silenced pistol to Femi’s forehead, while Funmi stood beside him, holding a pen and a stack of legal documents.
