Temi arrived forty minutes later with food Amara had not requested and the expression of a woman prepared to fight several dead and living people on her friend’s behalf.
“I told you not to come.”
“Yes.”
“You ignored me.”
“Yes.”
“That is becoming a theme in my life.”
Temi’s face changed. “I can leave.”
Amara looked at her. There it was: the difference.
Choice.
“No,” she said. “Stay.”
They ate on the floor because neither bothered moving to the dining table. Amara told the story in pieces, sometimes chronologically, sometimes not. Matteo’s letter. Chiara in Room 714. Dante. The trust. The audit. Folake’s strange reactions. Ade Senior’s attempts to narrow the scope.
Temi listened without trying to make the story less ugly. When Amara finished, the food had gone cold.
“What do you want to do?” Temi asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Good.”
Amara frowned. “Good?”
“You found out your life was sitting inside somebody else’s thirty-year conspiracy five hours ago. I would be worried if you had a five-point plan.”
Despite herself, Amara smiled. Then it vanished.
“I may have to withdraw from the audit.”
“Do you want to?”
“That is not the right question.”
“It is one of them.”
“My independence is compromised.”
“Because Matteo was your father?”
“Because Dante arranged my appointment without disclosing our relationship. Because the engagement was engineered. Because I now have a personal interest in the outcome.”
Temi nodded slowly. “So what happens if you withdraw?”
“Someone else completes it.”
“Chosen by the company?”
“Possibly.”
“And the evidence?”
“Preserved.”
“By the company your father’s murderer controls.”
Amara looked at her.
“I know why this is complicated,” Temi said. “I’m not telling you to stay. I’m saying leaving is also a decision with consequences.”
That was the problem. There was no clean option waiting for her. Amara leaned back against the sofa.
“I keep thinking about Matteo’s letter.”
“You called him Matteo.”
“He is Matteo.”
“He is also your father.”
“I don’t know him well enough for that word.”
Temi nodded. “Fair.”
Amara appreciated the lack of correction.
“He knew about the baby,” she continued. “He wanted the project stopped. He hid evidence. He told Chiara not to let Ade know there was another child.”
“Because he thought Ade might use you.”
“Yes.”
Temi was quiet for a moment.
“And then your brother used you.”
The sentence landed hard. Amara looked away.
“He would say it was different.”
“Was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is another good thing not to know tonight.”
Later, Temi made tea badly and refused to admit it. Around midnight, she fell asleep on the sofa. Amara remained awake. She opened her laptop and drafted a formal disclosure to the audit committee. I have identified a previously unknown personal relationship to subjects of the investigation that may create an actual or perceived conflict of interest. She stopped there.
The words looked bloodless on screen. Previously unknown personal relationship.
Father.
Brother.
Mother.
Murder.
She saved the draft without sending it. Then opened Kolade’s last message.
I’m here if you need anything.
Amara typed:
I found something personal. I need to tell you tomorrow before we do any more work.
She sent it. His reply came within seconds.
Okay.
No questions.
At last, somebody allowed the next sentence to belong entirely to her.