The conversation with Kojo lingered in Kwesi’s mind like a bad aftertaste as he sat at his desk, but the buzz of the office quickly pulled him back. He had reports to finalise before he could leave for Bantama. He buried himself in the work, letting the familiar columns of numbers and logistics data soothe his irritation.

An hour later, the intercom on his desk buzzed. “Kwesi, a moment, please,” Mr. Mensah’s voice crackled through.

Kwesi gathered his notes and headed back to the glass-walled office. This time, Mensah wasn’t behind his desk. He was standing by the window, looking out over the chaotic tapestry of Adum below. He turned as Kwesi entered, his expression shifting from contemplative to serious.

“Sit down, Kwesi,” he said, gesturing to the leather chairs. “We need to talk about the future.”

Kwesi sat, his heart rate picking up a rhythm against his ribs. “The future, Sir?”

“Yes. The Regional Director position,” Mensah said, not beating around the bush this time. “I’ve spoken to the board. Your name is at the top of the list. In fact, it’s the only name on the list that matters.”

Kwesi felt a flush of pride, tempered by a sudden weight of responsibility. “Thank you, Sir. I… I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. But you need to know what you’re walking into. This isn’t just about moving cocoa anymore. It’s about navigating politics, both internal and external. It’s about…” Mensah paused, searching for the right words. “…cleaning up messes you didn’t make.”

Kwesi leaned forward. “Like the discrepancies in the accounts?”

Mensah nodded slowly. “Exactly. Kojo is… connected. He has friends in high places. But his bookkeeping is sloppy, and I suspect, more than just sloppy. If you take this job, you’ll have to deal with that. And he won’t make it easy.”

“I’m not afraid of Kojo, Sir. Or his connections. If the books are wrong, they need to be righted. For the sake of the farmers and the company.”