“Surely it’s a bluff!” Inaya shrieked. “She can’t be that smart. Surely she… surely she hooked up with some old rich man. Yes, that’s it. She’s a kept woman.”
Kwesi wasn’t listening. “She wants to audit my company. What am I going to do?”
Inaya’s panic transformed into anger. “That woman! Who does she think she is? Coming back and ruining everything. I’ll handle her,” Inaya hissed.
“Handle what? Don’t get involved.”
But Inaya already had a plan. She knew where the new Black elite of Atlanta gathered. She would find Zalika. She would humiliate that woman in public, reminding her who she really was.
A few days later, Inaya, through a friend, discovered Zalika’s location: a luxury boutique café in the new office area of Buckhead.
Inaya arrived with full force. Designer clothes from the latest season, a flashy bag, heavy makeup. She saw Zalika sitting alone in a corner, reading documents on a tablet while drinking tea.
Inaya slammed her hand directly on the table, making noise on purpose.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s here,” Inaya said. Her voice was projected so everyone could hear. “Mrs. Zalika Okafor, right? Moving fast, huh? Climbing classes, from being thrown out in the lobby to sitting in an expensive café.”
Zalika looked up slowly, looked at Inaya, and then went back to looking at her tablet. She said nothing.
That indifference made Inaya even angrier. “Hey, I’m talking to you, heifer! Don’t play deaf. Who do you think you are, huh? You’re bothering Kwesi. Stay away from him. He is mine now.”
Zalika sighed. She put down her tablet. “Yours?” Zalika asked, her voice calm. “Things that are owned are usually objects. Miss Inaya isn’t human?”
“Don’t give me lessons. I know your game. You came back to steal Kwesi from me again, right? Because he’s successful.”
Zalika let out a little chuckle—a cold laugh. “Steal Kwesi, Miss Inaya? Why would I bother picking up the trash I already threw out?”
Inaya’s face turned red.
Zalika stood up. Now she was at eye level with Inaya.
“Listen well,” Zalika whispered, but the intensity made Inaya take a step back. “I’m not interested in Kwesi. I’m interested in his company. And if you want to know,” Zalika looked at the flashy shopping bag Inaya was holding, “Kwesi came to me begging me to finance his project. He isn’t even capable of paying for your lifestyle without begging me.”
“Liar!”
“Ah, yes.” Zalika pulled out a black credit card—the Centurion card—from her wallet. A card made of heavy metal. “Today I feel generous.”
She called the waiter. “The check, please. And also for this lady. I’m paying.”
Zalika looked at Inaya. “Consider it charity. You need it more than I do.”
She grabbed her tablet and walked out, leaving Inaya frozen in shame, turned into a spectacle for the entire café.
The bait game had worked. Kwesi was humiliated by the urgent need to hand over all his financial documents to Sekou’s team. Meanwhile, Zalika had humiliated Inaya in the café.
Sekou’s team gathered in the “war room” of the Cascade Mansion.
“This isn’t a company, Ms. Zalika,” Sekou said, pointing at the large screen showing the cash flow of Kwesi Constructions, Inc. “This is a house of cards built on air.”
“Explain,” Zalika said.
“First,” Sekou said, “materials. He charges his clients for Grade A cement, but reports show he buys Grade C. He takes a forty percent profit just on material embezzlement. This is illegal and dangerous.”
Zalika remembered a small bridge project Kwesi bragged about. Her stomach turned.
“Second, debts,” Sekou continued. “He doesn’t have bank debts. He’s too smart. For that, he gets into debt with small suppliers—sand pits, local hardware stores, small equipment rental companies. He delays their payments for months, even years, knowing they don’t have the legal strength to fight him.”
The list of supplier names appeared on the screen. Zalika recognized some names from the community.
“And third, taxes,” Sekou said. “He keeps two books: one for himself, one for the IRS. His tax evasion is massive.”
Zalika sat in silence. The man she was married to for ten years, the man she cared for when he was sick, turned out to be a scammer, an extortionist, and a thief.
“Good,” Zalika said. Her voice was steady.
Sekou looked at her. “Good?”
“Yes. This gives us a weapon. What is the next step?”
“Kwesi is only focused on us, on those 2,000 acres,” Sekou explained. “He doesn’t realize that his debt to the small suppliers is his weakest point. I want you, Zalika…” He stopped, thinking about the strategy. “I want you to buy all that debt.”
Sekou smiled. “I assumed so. I have prepared three shell companies in Delaware. We will buy every outstanding invoice from those suppliers. We will pay cash.”
“The suppliers will be happy,” Zalika said.
“They will be very happy. And Kwesi,” Sekou added, “will know nothing. He will only feel relieved because the collectors will stop calling him. He will think we are going to give him capital.”
“How much time?” Zalika asked.
“Give me a week. In a week, Kwesi Constructions, Inc. will no longer owe anything to the small merchants,” Sekou said. “He will owe me.”
Exactly as Sekou predicted, Kwesi suddenly felt his life was easier. The calls from angry suppliers stopped. He considered this a good sign. He thought the news that he was going to collaborate with Okafor Legacy Holdings had scared the suppliers off.
He was very wrong.
Feeling the pressure decrease, Kwesi decided it was time to take the last step. He had to secure Zalika—not on a business level, but personal. He knew the Zalika of before was weak, forgiving, and still loved him.
He sent a bouquet of white roses—Zalika’s favorites back then—to the Cascade Mansion with a note: I know I was wrong. Let’s talk like old times. Dinner at our usual spot.
Zalika almost threw the flowers away, but Sekou stopped her. “Go,” Sekou said. “Let him dig his own grave deeper.”
That night, Zalika went to the upscale restaurant where Kwesi had proposed to her years ago. Kwesi was already waiting. He looked impeccable. He ordered the most expensive wine.
“Zal,” he said, taking Zalika’s hand across the table.
Zalika allowed it. Her skin felt cold.
“I ask for your forgiveness.” Kwesi just looked at him, waiting.
“I know I was very wrong,” Kwesi continued. His eyes got misty. His performance was terrible, but he thought he was perfect. “Inaya, she is just a toy. I was pressured. Zal, business is hard. And you… you were busy with your mother. I felt lonely, so…”
“Was it my fault?” Zalika asked. Her voice was calm.
“No, no, it was my fault,” Kwesi rushed to correct himself. “I was blind. I didn’t see the diamond I had until I saw you in the meeting room the other day. I realized.”
“Realized what?”
“How fantastic you are. We can be the best team. Zal?” Kwesi leaned in. “I’ve already left Inaya. She’s already out of the apartment.”
It was a lie. Inaya was shopping with his credit card at that very moment.
“We can start over,” Kwesi whispered. “We will dominate Atlanta. You with your land, me with my expertise. Forget Sekou. You don’t need him. You only need me.”
Zalika withdrew her hand slowly. “Your seduction is good, Kwesi. Better than your business presentation,” she said coldly.
Kwesi was surprised.
“Maybe you’re right,” Zalika continued, as if thinking. Kwesi had hope again. “We really have to fix this. But I can’t mix personal and business.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s finish the business matter first,” Zalika said. “I’ve already seen the result of your audit.”
“And?” Kwesi asked anxiously.
“And we need to talk seriously,” Zalika said. “Tomorrow in my office at ten o’clock. Bring your lawyer if necessary. Once that is over, then we can talk about us.”
Zalika stood up, leaving Kwesi with a bottle of expensive wine and a sly smile, thinking he had just won.
At ten o’clock in the morning, meeting room of the mansion. Kwesi arrived alone, without a lawyer. He brought another bouquet of roses. He was very confident. He thought this meeting was just a formality before he and Zalika reconciled.
He entered the room. The atmosphere was far from romantic. Zalika was already seated in the head chair. Sekou was standing beside her. On the long mahogany table, there were no coffee cups, but stacks of thick legal documents.
“Zal, babe,” Kwesi greeted, trying to break the ice with the flowers.
“Sit down, Kwesi,” Zalika said, her voice cutting.
Kwesi sat. His smile faltered.
“Let’s get to the point,” Zalika said. “Mr. Sekou.”
Sekou stepped forward, placing a binder of documents in front of Kwesi. “Mr. Kwesi, this is the list of debts of Kwesi Constructions, Inc.,” Sekou said. “To Garcia Aggregates, a total of $100,000. To Bolt Hardware, $50,000. To Iberian Machinery, $200,000. And so on. The total verified debt with twelve suppliers is $500,000.”
Kwesi’s face paled. “What does this mean? I’m negotiating with them.”
“They no longer need negotiation,” Zalika interrupted, “because everyone has been paid in full.”
Kwesi looked at Zalika, confused. “Paid by whom?”
Zalika pointed to herself. “By me.”
Sekou pushed the second binder of documents. “Through three investment companies affiliated with Okafor Legacy Holdings, LLC, we have acquired or bought all those outstanding invoices. Copies of the debt assignment deeds are in front of you.”
Kwesi opened the first sheet. His heart seemed to stop.
“In other words, Kwesi?” Zalika leaned in, looking directly into the eyes of the man who had destroyed her. “Your company no longer owes anything to those small merchants.”
Zalika paused, letting the silence fill the room. “Your company now owes me.”
Kwesi couldn’t breathe. “I can pay. I can pay in installments.”
“Oh, of course,” Zalika said. “But I’m not interested in doing business with you. And I’m not interested in getting back with you. I want my money back.”
She slapped the documents in front of Kwesi. “According to the assignment clause, this debt is due now. You have twenty-four hours to liquidate those $500,000 in cash.”
“Twenty-four hours? That’s impossible! No one has that much cash!” Kwesi shouted, finally panicking.
“I do,” Zalika replied coldly.
“You… You set a trap for me.”
“A trap?” Zalika stood up. “I am only claiming what is my right, just like you kept all my rights before. If in twenty-four hours you cannot pay…”
Zalika put the third binder of documents on the stack. “Our legal team will immediately register the lien on that penthouse in The Sovereign, on your office, and on all your heavy machinery. Good morning, Mr. Kwesi. Twenty-four hours.”
Kwesi never knew how short twenty-four hours could be. After leaving Zalika’s mansion, he didn’t go back to the apartment. He panicked.
He spent the first hour driving aimlessly, cursing Zalika, Sekou, and the whole world. The second hour, he started calling. He called his bank manager.
“I need a loan of $500,000. The collateral is my project in South Georgia.”
The bank manager laughed on the other end of the phone. “Kwesi, don’t joke. You don’t have that project secured yet. Besides, your credit limit is already tapped out. Kwesi?”
Kwesi hung up the phone abruptly. From the third to the tenth hour, he spent calling all his business contacts. Every friend he had invited for expensive wine, every small official he had tipped.
