
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
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All the pieces together
Glory looked different and ruffled when two policemen shoved her roughly through the door into Nnamdi’s small office. They hadn’t laid a hand on her yet, but for her disheveled hair, one would have thought she had received a dozen well-deserved slaps.
The Manager’s office still held within its walls the unpleasant blend and smell of pungent drugs that Oladimeji has swallowed, laced with drying vomit and sweat. A sigh slipped through her lips when the stench in the room hit her nostril. None of the others in the room dared to wince.
If she was surprised to see Oladimeji on his feet, her face didn’t betray her emotions. She looked like she wore a heavy cloak of shame, that weighed her down as she stood alone by the other chair in the room, waiting.
Beads of sweat poured down her face, peeling away whatever was left of the make-up that endeared the DSP to her earlier that day. The energy in the room was that of restlessness and unease.
No one spoke a word.
Oladimeji was on his feet, supported with one strong arm on the table. He knew he wasn’t feeling as strong as he tried to appear, but he didn’t want Glory to think she succeeded in breaking his resolve. His face betrayed him though. His lips were visibly dry from excessive retching, while his face, covered in a thick layer of oil, told the story of the ordeal she had caused him.
Nnamdi stood at the corner of the room along with the two officers that accompanied Glory into the office. He wondered how he barely knew the woman standing right in front of him all the times they were together. His conflicting feelings for her left him in quandary. He truly loved her, yet she betrayed him and was involved in the most heinous crime he could ever imagine. His heart threatened to burst out of his ribcage if she didn’t start talking.
“I will confess, sir.” Glory offered some contrition for her involvement in the crime. “I will confess.” She reiterated, but there was no remorse in the way she recapped the events that transpired earlier the previous day.
Oladimeji found his chair, heaped his deadbeat body into it before opening his note pad to scoop every word she was about to spill.
***
Earlier that afternoon, after Glory had attended to Onono, her boyfriend, Nelson, strolled into the hotel lobby. He had called her earlier, informing her of his intent to stay over at the hotel for a short period that afternoon.
It wasn’t unusual for Nelson to show up at the hotel in the hope of a quick romp between the sheets. Glory couldn’t understand why he arrived at the hotel in good time unlike previous times and why he insisted that his room must be on the fourth floor.
Nelson was all about the sex. Despite his angry eyes and calloused face, he had the sweetest set of dimples set on his lean cheeks, that held Glory’s heart captive. His rough hands were masterpieces; artwork built of a lifetime of stoic and practical love that left her panting after hours of intense sex. Nnamdi had a lot to learn about sex to match Nelson’s bourgeoning reputation.
Nelson had no known job, kith nor kin. He was a loner who earned a living running shady errands for crooked politicians and questionable clerics who had dirty secrets to hide from the world. His job was to clean up their messes for a decent monetary gratification. Glory stayed with him for three reasons.
Firstly, he was a fantastic lover. Secondly, he had taken several nude pictures of her during the early stages of their relationship and threatened to release them on social media whenever he needed to manipulate her to do his bidding. Thirdly, he promised to inform her lover boy, Nnamdi, of their tryst. She cared dearly for Nnamdi and wanted nothing more than to make him happy.
Glory wasted no time organizing one of the unoccupied rooms in the hotel for him. If she wasn’t found out, like the other times, she wouldn’t have to pay for the room. She figured that if all he wanted was the room, it wasn’t much of a bother.
But Nelson wanted more. He kept asking all sorts of questions about the operations at the hotel. The daily routine of hotel staff and the location of all the CCTV cameras along with details of those on duty during the evening shift. He tasked her with the job of turning off the camera by the pool side from within the manager’s office. To pass instructions to her, he sent her text messages on her phone. No phone calls.
Nnamdi had shown her in the past how she’d turn off some of the CCTV cameras shortly before they retired to one of the rooms for their indecent affairs. She only had to get the office keys off him, under the guise of picking something up she had forgotten in his office. But she also had to wait for Nelson’s instruction at the exact moment with details of the cameras he wanted out.
It was a nightmare waiting for instructions. She knew he was up to no good, but she had no idea what he had planned to do that night.
She shuttled between the front desk and his room on the fourth floor several times. Once, for a fifteen-minute sex session, another, to provide a clean set of towels after they had another exciting romp. On her way up to the room the third time, she ran into Efe and Onono as she exited the elevator cabin and was confounded by the chemistry of their conversation.
She felt a tinge of jealousy that was quickly replaced by indifference as soon as she opened the door into the warm embrace of Nelson.
The fourth time she showed up in the room was with a tray full of continental food and exotic drinks that she had managed to trick the kitchen and the bar staff into giving her under the pretext that Nnamdi had instructed her to.
This time she stumbled on Efe and Ekpeyong in a brief brawl along the corridor as she exited the room. Curious, she hid behind the room door listening in on the short monologue that ensued.
She wondered what business Efe had to do with the man in the next room, who appeared to be really upset with him, as he shoved him to the wall. With the stern messages clearly passed, she could discern that it had to do with his wife.
She couldn’t understand why Nelson was constantly asking her about the same man all afternoon. He wanted to know if he had left the room at any time, what he ordered for lunch and whether his wife had left the room.
She could barely provide answers to all his questions, and that left him angry, irritated and perplexed.
The fifth time she checked on Nelson, he had left the room and she had no clue where he had gone, until he sent the text message asking her to disconnect the CCTV at the pool side.
The misplaced guilt, eating her out for having two of her lovers within the same building, triggered a panic that caused her to overcompensate with Nnamdi. She paid attention to his every need; touching him when no one was looking and offered a warm kiss when he least expected. Nnamdi’s feeble protest nudged her on.
During one of such moments, she conned her way with his office key, leaving Nnamdi to preoccupy himself with arranging for their rendezvous later that night.
Glory found out about Onono’s death later that night after Efe screamed his lungs out by the poolside.
It was then she was convinced that Onono was the target of Nelson’s elaborate plans all through the afternoon.
At first her emotions flicked like a switch between fear, anxiety, confusion, and finally anger of immense proportion.
She had a flurry of questions that needed answers; answers she wasn’t willing to admit she had.
The next text message she received from Nelson had a picture of her breasts cupped in both her hands, with a smile that danced around her eyes, inviting the man behind the camera to plunder her assets. It also came with a stern warning to keep her mouth shut and to stay by her phone.
She soon realized that she was a pawn in the whole scheme of things. Nelson had orchestrated the murder and she was inadvertently an accomplice to the crime. She felt stupid when she realized that the recording on the CCTV camera in the corridor of the fourth floor would undoubtably prove that she aided the murderer.
It was now important that she protect her boyfriend and invariably herself.
At first, she followed the progress of the case through the eyes and lips of Nnamdi, who was eager to share updates made on the case with her. As new findings unfolded, Glory was the first to be informed and then she texted a message over to Nelson.
Soon enough, Oladimeji was beginning to ask difficult questions, after he watched several CCTV recordings. She tried to ignore the anxious thoughts that played on her mind as though a distant radio static, but her mind remained unsettled, making Nelson’s suggestion a reasonable option.
“Poison the fool.” That was what his last text read.
She wondered how Oladimeji managed to survive that long. The big rats in the store lasted only a few minutes after ingesting the poisoned granules. But for him, she had increased the dose disproportionately, in hope that his death would be quick and painful.
Quick, because she couldn’t risk allowing him to share his findings with any of his officers. Painful, because she could see the lust written all over his eyes as they undressed her when she served him his “last meal.”
She already had her fair share of sex in the last twenty-four hours, she wasn’t prepared for another with the policeman, he didn’t care for.
She was convinced that his death would scuttle the investigation and cause disarray amongst the police officers.
It was indeed a perfect plan.
Glory fled the scene the moment she saw the officers racing up the staircase leading to the fourth floor. That was the moment she realized that the game was up.
She was truly fucked.
Nelson was no longer replying to her text messages and the one time she called his line it rang repeatedly unanswered. “The bastard has cut me loose.” She fumed.
Scared stiff, she walked calmly to the gate house with an empty food basket in her left hand hoping to charm the officers who were already bored to death watching motorcycles and houseflies entertain them in the heat of the afternoon.
At first, the officers hesitated, seeing she was still clad in her work cloths and appeared somehow fidgety, but she tucked two folded notes discreetly into the palm of the officer by the gate, who looked like he could use a cold drink that very moment.
The hotel gate was half-open when the officers within the hotel lobby screamed for her arrest.
So close. Very palpable. Yet not close enough.
She bit her lips till she tasted blood. That was all the cry she had left inside.
***
“Where is Nelson?” Oladimeji clenched his teeth in rage. He didn’t have the energy to bang the table with his fist like he would have wanted to. He opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly almost like he struggled to remember how to talk.
“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t been able to reach him in the last thirty minutes.”
Oladimeji’s head found a discordant rhythm as he nodded his head like a disused toy; up, down, down and up.
A strange ringtone shattered the tension in the room. It was Glory’s Nokia handset tucked into the cozy depth of her side pocket.
“It is Nelson. He is calling for updates.” She announced to everyone in the room, relieved that she was going to make him pay for every pain he had caused her.
“The bastard.” she muttered under her breath.
“Answer it.” Oladimeji ordered.
Nnamdi watched the unfolding drama in utter disbelief. He surely didn’t know what Glory was capable of doing.
“Is he dead now?” His voice was menacing and cold.
“Yes.” Glory answered quietly. “Like a chicken.” She added looking straight into Oladimeji’s eyes.
His officers stifled a laugh.
The loud convulsive laughter in response at the other end of the phone line oscillated between glee and satisfaction. It echoed through the room, ripping the officers of the law of their ego.
Oladimeji fumed, grinding his teeth in rage.
Glory continued the conversation unperturbed. “Can you pick me up close to the hotel gate, I want to feel your kisses all over my body again.”
There was silence only for a moment, but it seemed like eternity to the officers. They urged her on, gesticulating with their hands.
“Baby?” Glory punctuated the silence.
“Okay meet me outside in 30minutes. Make sure that no one is coming with you. Stay with your phone. Okay?”
“Yes baby. Most of the policemen have left already after the inspector died. It would be easy.”
“See you…s…” The phone was yanked off her ears by the officer closest to her angrily.
“You are in a lot of trouble.” He promised her.
A hurricane of emotions had flooded Oladimeji’s mind, it was unbelievable the turn of the investigation, but this was one last bit that needed to be sorted out quickly.
Why did Nelson want Onono dead? What was his relationship with her?
They were not in the same social circle, who was pulling the strings behind the scenes?
He needed answers, and quickly too.
He got to his feet quickly, but with immense pain. “Let’s catch this bastard.” He announced.

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

When he told his father, Dare’s first response was a sigh. Then: “I told you to practice more. I told you months ago. You don’t listen. You never listen.”
There was no “I’m sorry, son.” No pause to let the boy simply feel the loss of the thing he wanted. Just a swift, seamless pivot to what Temi had done wrong — and, by extension, how Temi’s failure was evidence of Temi’s failure to take his father’s wisdom seriously.

I want to tell you something that took me embarrassingly long to learn. Not because the idea is complicated — it is not. But because it cuts against something deeply wired in us, something we are rarely honest enough to admit.

You are somewhere between forty and fifty-five. You looked in the mirror recently and had a thought you immediately dismissed. Maybe you googled something at 2am that you would never say out loud. Maybe you bought something expensive and impractical and told everyone it was an investment. Or maybe you just feel — quietly, persistently — like the life you built was supposed to feel better than this by now.

Anton Chekhov was a Russian physician and playwright — a man trained in the discipline of diagnosis before he became one of the most precise storytellers in the history of world literature. That combination of sensibilities matters, because the principle he articulated in the late nineteenth century was not merely a rule of dramatic craft. It was an observation about the nature of significance itself. About what it means for something to be present. About the relationship between introduction and consequence.

There is a prison that has no concrete walls, no iron bars, no guards posted at the gate. Nobody built it for you. Nobody sentenced you to it. And yet, for many people, it is the place they spend the better part of their lives — circling its perimeter, brushing their fingers against its invisible boundaries, and quietly retreating each time they feel the edge of something that might require more of them than they believe they can give.

Picture a hand holding sand. The tighter the grip, the faster the grains escape between the fingers. Ease the grip — open the palm, allow the hand to become a vessel rather than a vice — and the sand stays. This is one of the oldest paradoxes of leadership, and one of the least learned: that control, pursued too aggressively, produces the very loss of control it was designed to prevent.

There is a version of ambition that builds. And there is a version of ambition that consumes. From a distance — and especially from inside it — they look almost identical. Both are energetic. Both are forward-moving. Both speak the language of vision and possibility. The difference only becomes visible later, usually at the point of fracture, when what was built begins to come apart under the weight of what was promised.

There is a particular kind of organisational absurdity that most people who have ever worked in a company will recognise immediately. It is the policy that was clearly designed by someone who has never had to implement it. The restructuring that looked elegant on a slide deck and chaotic on the ground. The customer-facing process that was overhauled by a committee that has not spoken to a customer in years. The directive that arrives from above, fully formed and non-negotiable, that causes the people closest to the work to exchange a look — the kind of look that says, without words: they have no idea what we actually do here.

We have built an entire mythology around exhaustion. In boardrooms and business culture — perhaps nowhere more so than in the high-pressure, always-on professional culture many of us inhabit — busyness has become a currency. To be tired is to be serious. To be overwhelmed is to be important. To be burning out, quietly, is somehow proof that you are fully committed.

There is a particular kind of failure that never makes the headlines. It does not arrive with a scandal, a public collapse, or a dramatic resignation. It builds slowly, almost imperceptibly, in the space between what a leader sees and what they choose to say. It lives in the meetings that end without the real conversation ever starting. It grows in the silence after a poor decision goes unchallenged, not because nobody noticed, but because everyone agreed — unspokenly — that it was simply easier not to say anything.

The boardroom at Crescent Capital Partners on Victoria Island smelled of leather and ambition — the kind that had been earned, aged, and perhaps left out a little too long. Emeka Osei-Bello, Managing Director and Group CEO, sat at the head of a long mahogany table, his charcoal suit immaculate, his posture the kind that says, I built this. He had, in many ways, done exactly that.

When you stay loyal to a version of yourself that no longer exists—the one who was hurt, the one who failed, the one who was overlooked—you are still choosing. You are choosing to let one moment in time define the whole arc of your life. And that choice costs more than it keeps.

A tipping point in business is the critical threshold where small, consistent efforts and favourable conditions trigger a much larger market response. It is the point where growth changes character.
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14 thoughts on “Damaged Goods (Part 10)- the final Episode”
Pingback: Damaged Goods (Part 9)- a short story – Akin Akingbogun
Oh my!
My reading spree -catching up on all episodes- was just cut short. Thought the final episode was out
Absolutely love the twists and fine details.
Welldone boss
Can’t wait for the last episode !
I must apologise profusely for cutting the excitement short. I do hope you now have the closure you desire.
Yesss!
For a good read, thank youuuu!
Pingback: Damaged Goods (Part 11) – Akin Akingbogun
A.K.I.N!!! Wehdone
Thanks my learned writer.
Waooo… what a great read! I must say I’m very impressed at the structure of your stories. I tried to get bored intentionally but you won’t let me. Well done brother.
Dear Damola, I would not allow you get bored.No no!
This is a master piece filled with suspense and intrigue.
Thanks alot Peter.
An interesting read. Welldone broo. More wisdom
Thanks buddie
Not me reading with keen attention then finding out I’m done with this episode…… Nice read …. But what’s happening? I’m starting to imagine a lot of stuffs in my head