The afternoon sun was brutal, turning the city of Lagos into an oven. In a park in Lagos, the shadows stretched long and sharp across the grass. But Chief Jeremiah Williams did not feel the heat. He was a man whose name carried weight from the high-rise boardrooms down to the gritty streets of Victoria Island.
Jerry sat heavily on a park bench, feeling every bit of his age. Beside him sat his seven-year-old daughter, Maya. She looked so small, wrapped in a thick designer cardigan. Despite the humid air, her tiny hands were gripped tightly around a white mobility cane, a sight that still felt like a punch to Jerry’s gut every time he looked at it.
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