Game of deception, p.22
Game of Deception, page 22
Michael tilted his head, as if considering something profound.
Zubby spoke again, words spilling out now—raw, unguarded. He told Michael about his childhood. About his father. About how alcohol had hollowed the man out until violence was all that remained.
He described the night his father beat his mother to death.
The smell of gin.
The silence afterward.
The way her body lay broken while his father slept beside her, snoring.
Even now, those memories stalked him. In quiet moments, he still heard her cries.
Michael listened closely, then leaned in.
‘Perhaps you were chosen,’ he said softly. ‘Chosen to end men like him. To stop the cycle.’
Zubby looked up.
‘Your mother would be proud of you,’ Michael added. ‘You’d be saving women. Saving children. Ending evil.’
The words sank in like a sedative.
THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY afternoon, Zubby and Omotola met at an exclusive club to finalize the plan.
‘It has to be the Ikoyi house,’ Omotola said. ‘The Victoria Island mansion is heavily fortified. Ikoyi is easier.’
Zubby nodded. ‘I know. We upgraded the security system ourselves.’
‘There are dogs,’ she continued. ‘I’ll poison them so you can get in.’
Zubby recoiled. ‘No. No killing the dogs. There has to be another way.’
She studied him, then nodded. ‘Fine. I’ll sedate them. They’ll sleep for a few hours.’
‘That’s better.’
‘It must look like an armed robbery,’ Omotola said. ‘I’ll show you where the valuables are.’
Zubby swallowed.
I can’t believe this is real.
‘We’ll be there next weekend,’ she finished. ‘That’s when it happens.’
ZUBBY’S PAST RETURNED to him in fragments.
He had watched his father dissolve into a raging alcoholic long before the man finally crossed the line and beat his mother to death. Even now, as a grown man, that day lived inside him with cruel clarity—the sickly smell of alcohol, the unnatural stillness of her body, the way he had found her bloodied on the ground while his father lay sprawled nearby, passed out in a drunken stupor.
The memory had never loosened its grip. And now, faced with the chance to save another woman from a cruel, violent husband—a man who brutalized his wife and innocent children—those buried images surged back to life.
He had always believed he could never take another human being’s life. Yet as his mother’s face rose unbidden in his mind, he found himself reshaping the truth.
This isn’t murder, he told himself.
It’s justice.
And yet...
Something gnawed at him.
He couldn’t reconcile the photographs—the composed, dignified man beside Omotola—with the monster he had been told about. Yes, appearances could deceive. But still...
The doubt persisted.
Quiet. Persistent. Unshakable.
‘Zubby,’ Omotola said gently. ‘I know you’re doing this for me. But remember—it’s not just me you’re saving. You’re saving many lives.’
He turned to her.
‘Omotola, there’s something that’s been weighing on me,’ he said carefully. ‘If this man was really that monstrous, why did you stay for so long—especially knowing the things he was capable of? Why didn’t you tell someone—anyone—what was happening to you and the children?’
Her eyes softened.
‘You just have no idea how powerful this man is, do you?' Omotola said quietly. 'If I had walked away, he would have found me, and he would have wiped out my entire family. I didn't have any choice but to stay and pray that someone like you would one day come along and save me.'
The answer unsettled him.
Still, Zubby wasn’t prepared to walk away. He had seen the children. He had seen Omotola’s injuries. He had felt the weight of too much suffering in a world where men like the chief lived untouched behind gates and guards.
Money could buy almost anything.
But not immortality.
Even so, Zubby couldn’t shake the feeling that the chief didn’t look capable of the things he was accused of. What troubled him most was that he had never met the man—not even once. Omotola had gone to great lengths to keep them apart.
Why?
He would have welcomed the chance to see him for himself. Even after everything he had witnessed, Zubby struggled to reconcile the composed, respectable figure in his mind with the catalogue of horrors attributed to him. He had seen the evidence with his own eyes. And yet, the doubt lingered—quiet, persistent, and impossible to ignore.
40
A PROBLEM SHARED
‘There are no problems we cannot solve together, and very few that we can solve by ourselves.’ ―LYNDON B. JOHNSON
In hindsight, Zubby regretted the way he had spoken to Ramsey. His friend had only been trying to help, and Zubby knew it. Over the past few weeks, he had pushed everyone away—without fully realizing it.
He wasn’t ready to explain what was really happening, but he owed Ramsey an apology.
When he spotted him on the sales floor, Zubby walked over and owned it. He apologized for the way he’d spoken to him the last time. Ramsey accepted without hesitation. They bumped fists, then pulled into a brief embrace.
‘I’ll be straight with you, man,’ Zubby said quietly. ‘You were right. Something is going on. But it’s not what you think.’
Ramsey’s brow furrowed. ‘Then what is it?’
Zubby shook his head. ‘I can’t talk about it yet.’
‘You know you can trust me,’ Ramsey pressed. ‘If you’re in trouble, say so. Two heads are better than one.’
‘I don’t want anyone else involved,’ Zubby said. ‘It’s better this way.’
‘How?’ Ramsey asked, uneasy. ‘Is Omotola holding something over you? What happened between you two?’
‘Nothing,’ Zubby said quickly. ‘I would never cheat on Genevieve. That’s not me. Omotola’s just... in serious trouble. And right now, I’m the only one who can help her.’
Ramsey stared at him. ‘What kind of trouble?’
Zubby looked away. ‘I just have to help her.’
He hesitated, then added softly, ‘I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot lately. About how I couldn’t protect her when my father... when he did what he did.’
Ramsey’s expression darkened. ‘You’re scaring me, bro. Talk to me. You’re not about to do something stupid, are you?’
Zubby didn’t answer.
‘Zubby,’ Ramsey said firmly. ‘I’m your closest friend. If you have a problem, then I have a problem. Let me help.’
Zubby considered it—but before he could respond, his name crackled over the store’s announcement system.
‘Zubby Johnson, please report to the store manager’s office immediately.’
Zubby exhaled. ‘Listen, I promise I’ll explain later. Let me see what the boss wants.’
Ramsey watched him walk away, concern etched across his face.
‘Zubby, my boy!’ Osufia boomed as Zubby entered his office. ‘How are you doing?’
‘I’m fine, sir,’ Zubby said, taking a seat. ‘And you?’
‘Fantastic—and I’ve got news to match,’ Osufia said, grinning. ‘Another big sale. A huge one.’
Zubby blinked. ‘Already?’
‘Yes!’ Osufia said, delighted. ‘A group from Qatar will be visiting in a couple of days. They specifically requested you. Apparently, you handled a deal for their associates a few months back and left quite an impression. You’re becoming a superstar around here.’
Zubby hesitated. ‘That’s... great. But I don’t think I can handle this one right now. Ramsey should take it. He’s more than capable.’
Osufia stared at him. ‘Have you lost your mind? Do you know how much commission you’re walking away from?’
Zubby swallowed. ‘I’m not in the right headspace. Genevieve had to travel to London unexpectedly, and I don’t know when she’ll be back. My mother’s memorial is also coming up. I just need a few days to get myself together.’
Osufia’s expression softened. ‘I see. That’s unfortunate—but I understand. You’re a valuable asset to this company, Zubby. Take whatever time you need.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Don’t mention it. Call Ramsey in for me.’
41
SHATTERED ILLUSIONS
‘A moment of choice is a moment of truth. It's the testing point of our character and competence.’ ―STEPHEN COVEY
Finally, the moment of truth arrived.
Zubby showed up as planned at 3 a.m. The dogs were already sedated. As arranged, he slipped in through a kitchen window.
Omotola was waiting in the hallway.
They tore through the house, staging a burglary—but Zubby’s heart was pounding now, because he knew what came next. He was about to commit murder.
And yet, in his mind, it felt justified.
He thought of the beatings. The hospital visits. The way Omotola had been broken down by the chief, over and over again. He was certain that if nothing changed, the chief would eventually kill her. Zubby believed he had to act—before it was too late.
Then his thoughts turned to the children. Defenceless. Scarred by the same cruelty. No one to protect them.
Enough was enough.
As they approached the master bedroom, Zubby’s heart hammered so violently it hurt. He gripped the Glock in his right hand while Omotola led the way. She opened the door and flicked on the light.
The chief lay asleep, deep under the effects of a sedative-laced nightcap.
They moved to the foot of the bed. Zubby met Omotola’s eyes.
She pointed at the chief.
‘Shoot.’
Zubby stared at the sleeping man, then back at her. He inhaled deeply, sweat streaming down his face. His hands shook as he raised the gun.
‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘Do it.’
He cocked the weapon.
‘Come on, Zubby. We don’t have all night.’
His finger tightened—but he couldn’t pull the trigger.
‘I can’t,’ he said at last, lowering the gun. ‘I can’t take a human life. Not even his.’
‘Zubby!’ Omotola screamed, fury exploding in her voice.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘Please—listen to me. I’ll go to the police tomorrow. I’ll help you build a case. My fiancée is a lawyer. She can—’
‘Give me the gun!’ Omotola shouted.
‘Omotola, please—’
The door burst open.
Michael stormed in, a snub-nose revolver raised. Zubby froze as he recognized him—the doctor from Saint John’s Hospital. In Michael’s other hand was Genevieve, dragged into the room by her hair. Her hands were bound behind her back. She was crying.
Without hesitation, Michael fired five shots into the sleeping chief.
Then he turned to Omotola.
‘I told you,’ he said coldly. ‘He didn’t have the balls.’
‘Genevieve!’ Zubby screamed, terror ripping through him.
Michael pressed the gun to her head.
‘Give Omotola the gun. Now.’
Zubby obeyed right away.
Sneering, she spat at Zubby and slapped him hard in the face, saying, ‘I knew I couldn't trust you.’ She raised the gun and pointed it at Zubby, then at Genevieve and right back at Zubby.
'Michael,' she asked, 'which one should I shoot first?'
Zubby looked from Omotola to Michael, stunned. ‘This was all a setup?’ He looked at Omotola and said, 'you used me?'
Michael laughed. ‘You catch on quick. This is a billion-dollar operation, my friend. And tonight, you both die. ‘You will die tonight. Your fiancée will die tonight. Right here, right now!’
All of a sudden, the sound of wailing sirens punctuated the tight, tense atmosphere. Red and blue lights completely illuminated the room. Within seconds, the residence was teeming with police in anti-riot gear.
‘This is the police,’ a voice boomed through a megaphone. ‘The premises are surrounded. Come out with your hands behind your head.
Michael and Omotola froze in fear.
Zubby didn’t hesitate. He lunged, tackling Michael to the ground and knocking the revolver from his hand.
Genevieve watched in horror as Zubby pummelled Michael, rage consuming him.
‘Zubby—stop!’ Omotola screamed, sobbing now, waving the Glock wildly. ‘Get off him!’
She pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Realization hit Genevieve like a wave—the gun was loaded with blanks.
Before Omotola could react, officers stormed the room. They dragged Zubby off Michael, whose face was now a blood-soaked mask.
The last person to enter the room was Godson.
Black trousers. White shirt. A service revolver strapped beneath his arm. He smiled calmly, like a man who already knew the ending.
Smiling, he looked at Omotola and said, 'Hello, Omotola, remember me?'
A visibly stunned Omotola turned to Godson and stared. Her face twisted in horror as she slowly realized who he was. ‘Godson?’ She asked, staring at him as if he were a ghost.
‘In the flesh,’ he grinned.
Zubby rushed to Genevieve, cutting her ties and pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly, smoothing her tangled hair as she rested her head against his chest.
He looked up at Godson, bewildered.
‘You sold me the gun. And you know her?’ He gestured at Omotola. ‘What is going on?’
'What in God's name is going on here?’
‘I think we should get the chief first, shall we?’ Godson said, nodding to one of the plain clothes officers, who left the room to fetch the chief.
The chief shook his head as he entered the room, staring at a stupefied Omotola and Michael sitting in handcuffs on the floor. A policeman pulled up a chair for him as Godson began speaking.
‘My name is Godson Ike. I am an information security analyst for the Criminal Investigation and Intelligence Department.
‘Do you know what a black widow is?’
Silence.
‘Omotola is one. Michael is her partner.’ They target wealthy married men who have a weakness for beautiful, young women. ‘Omotola enters the victim’s life as trusted staff, either as a secretary or personal assistant.
‘The wife is abducted. Then murdered. With her gone, Omotola inserts herself into the widower’s life, engineers emotional dependence, and marries him.
After they get married, she slowly poisons her husband by putting untraceable amounts of poison in his food and drink.
Symptoms develop slowly—fatigue, organ failure, systemic decline.
The doctors diagnose illness.
The death certificates list natural causes.
Godson pauses.
‘The marriage is not a relationship.
It is the final and most cruel phase of the crime.
The victim dies believing he is loved.’
12 years ago, my parents were murdered by Michael and Omotola in the manner I have just described. In fact, my parents were their first victims—that we know of.
After they killed my father, they dumped me in an orphanage hundreds of miles away in Kano, changed my name and simply disappeared. That was their first mistake,'
Godson smiled wryly.
‘I guess they couldn't bring themselves to kill an innocent kid. Luckily for me, my aunt Ebele did not rest until she found me. She posted a missing child notice in local newspapers across the country, offering a one-million-naira reward. It was only a matter of time before someone at the orphanage recognized me.
When she found me, my aunt took me in and raised me as one of her own.
A few years back, she stumbled upon a featured article about a lavish society wedding in Ovation magazine. She recognized Omotola. This time, she was getting married to another wealthy Nigerian, Alhaji Muhammed Dangote.
At the time, my aunt didn't think too much of it. Omotola is a remarkably beautiful woman. Getting married to another wealthy man wasn’t exactly a surprise. At the time, the only thing she was guilty of, was stealing my rightful inheritance.
My aunt, however, found it perplexing that Alhaji Dangote's wife had also been killed a few months prior to the wedding, under circumstances very similar to what my family had gone through.
When Alhaji Dangote passed away less than 12 months later from so-called natural causes, my aunt suspected that Omotola might be a black widow. When I turned 18, my aunt sat me down and explained everything that had transpired. She also relayed her suspicions about Omotola to me. I vowed to get justice for my family, and to persist until I unravelled the truth behind their deaths and ensure that their perpetrators faced justice.
This is why I made the decision to pursue a degree in forensic psychology at the University of Lagos. Shortly after completing my youth service, I joined the CID as an information security analyst.
One of the perks of working undercover for the Nigerian government is having access to classified information. Soon after joining the agency, I was able to construct an accurate and in-depth profile of Omotola, taking into account everything we knew about her. Based on that profile, I was certain that she would soon be on the hunt for their next victim.
And then last year, another society wedding between Omotola and Chief Adenuga. Surprise, surprise, we discovered out that the chief’s wife and children had been killed in a violent home invasion the year before. We knew Omotola had found her next victim.
But this time, I guess they didn’t have the patience to stick with the tried and tested poisoning strategy, so they modified their M.O. They decided to search for a fall guy they could manipulate and turn into a killer. They chose Zubby based on what they discovered about his background.
Nevertheless, it didn't really matter if Zubby would be capable of committing murder. Their primary objective was to persuade him to break into the house. That would provide the opportunity to set him up as Chief Adenuga’s assailant.
