Mensah smiled, a genuine, if weary, expression. “That is why I chose you. You have integrity, Kwesi. It’s a rare commodity these days. But be careful. Integrity can be a dangerous thing in a city built on compromises.”

“I understand, Sir.”

“Good. Now,” Mensah’s tone brightened, shifting gears. “Tell me about your ideas. You mentioned something about digitisation earlier?”

“Yes, Sir,” Kwesi said, grateful for the shift to a topic he could control. “Mobile money. SMS tracking. We can cut out the middlemen, reduce theft, and speed up payments to the farmers. It would revolutionise our operations in the region.”

Mensah listened intently as Kwesi outlined his vision, nodding along. “It’s bold,” he admitted. “Expensive, but bold. Draft a proposal. A formal one. I want to present it to the board alongside your nomination next week.”

“Consider it done.”

As Kwesi left the office for the second time that day, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. The warning about Kojo lingered, but it was overshadowed by the thrill of the challenge. He was going to change things. He was going to make a difference.

He didn’t notice Kojo standing in the shadow of the filing cabinets this time, but he felt eyes on him. He glanced over, but the accountant was gone. Shrugging off the unease, Kwesi checked his watch. It was late afternoon. The sun would be setting soon, casting long shadows over Kumasi. It was time to go home.

He walked out into the heat of Adum, the noise of the market a familiar roar. He hailed a taxi, giving the driver directions to Bantama. As the car wove through the traffic, dodging tro-tros and hawkers, Kwesi allowed himself to relax. He pictured his father’s face when he heard the news. He pictured Abena’s smile.

The future was rushing towards him, bright and golden, and for the first time in a long time, Kwesi Dankwa felt entirely, completely ready for it.