The sterile smell of antiseptic and the harsh fluorescent lights of the Komfo Anokye Teaching Hospital were a jarring contrast to the warm, dusty air of Patasi. Mr. Ofori paced the corridor of the emergency unit, his usually composed demeanour fraying at the edges. Uncle Gyasi sat on a plastic chair, his head in his hands, murmuring prayers under his breath.

Inside the ward, medics worked with practised efficiency around Opanyin Dankwa. The old man looked frail against the white sheets, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. A young doctor emerged, pulling off his gloves.

“He is stable,” the doctor announced, his voice professional but weary. “It was a severe angina attack brought on by acute stress. We’ve managed to lower his blood pressure and stabilise his heart rate, but he needs rest. Complete rest. We are admitting him for observation.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Mr. Ofori said, relief washing over him. “Can we see him?”

” briefly. Then I advise you to go home. He will sleep for most of the day.”

They spent a few minutes by the bedside, watching the old man sleep, his face peaceful for the first time that day. Satisfied that he was in safe hands, they left the hospital, the weight of the morning’s events pressing down on them.

Back at the Ofori residence, the atmosphere was sombre. Mrs. Ofori, Abena, and the extended family were waiting, anxiety etched on their faces. Even Osei was there, leaning against the wall, his expression one of carefully calibrated concern.

“He is stable,” Uncle Gyasi announced to the room. “The doctors say he will be fine.”

A collective sigh of relief went through the room. But it was short-lived. The question of Kwesi still hung in the air, heavy and unresolved.

“We must go to the station,” Abena said, her voice trembling but determined. “We cannot leave Kwesi there alone.”

“We will all go,” Agya Kofi Ofori declared, adjusting his cloth. “This is a family matter now.”

The convoy of cars made its way to the Sofoline Police Station. As they pulled up, the scene outside was chaotic. News had travelled fast. A small crowd from Bantama had gathered, drawn by the scent of scandal. Maame Serwaa was there, holding court near the entrance, her voice carrying over the noise.

“I saw him myself!” she was saying to a rapt audience. “Wearing kente like a chief, but stealing like a common thief! Ei, this world!”

Beside her stood Agyeman, shaking his head with mock sorrow. “I always suspected,” he lied smoothly. “He was too eager to pay off debts. Where did he get that kind of money so quickly?”

As the families exited their cars, another vehicle screeched to a halt. Mr. Mensah, Kwesi’s boss, stepped out, looking dishevelled and frantic. He spotted Mr. Ofori and rushed over.

“Is it true?” Mensah asked, breathless. “I heard… I heard they arrested Kwesi.”

Mr. Ofori nodded grimly. “It is true. Just this morning. At his own engagement.”

Mensah ran a hand over his face. “I came as soon as I heard. I cannot believe it. Not Kwesi.”

Across the yard, Osei caught Agyeman’s eye. A brief, almost imperceptible glance passed between them—a flash of triumph, quickly masked. The plan was working perfectly.

The group, now fortified by Mr. Mensah’s presence, pushed their way into the station. The desk sergeant looked up, annoyed by the intrusion, but the sight of Mr. Mensah in his suit and the dignified elders made him pause.

“We are here for Kwesi Dankwa,” Mr. Mensah stated, his voice commanding.

“He is being processed,” the sergeant grunted. “You can’t see him.”

“I demand to speak to the officer in charge,” Mensah insisted.

After a moment of hesitation, the sergeant pointed them towards an office at the back. “Chief Inspector Amidu. She is handling the case.”

Chief Inspector Amidu was a stern woman with eyes that seemed to drill into a person’s soul. She sat behind a desk piled high with files, one of which was open in front of her. She looked up as the delegation entered.

“You are here for the suspect, Dankwa?” she asked, her tone flat.

“He is not a suspect, he is an innocent man!” Abena cried out, stepping forward.

“Sit,” Amidu commanded. She didn’t offer them tea or sympathy. She simply opened the file. “The charges are serious. Fraud. Smuggling cocoa beans. Causing financial loss to the state. We have evidence.”

“What evidence?” Auntie Yaa demanded, her voice shaking with indignation. “I raised that boy after his mother died. He was the school prefect! He won the ‘Most Promising Student’ award! He has never stolen a pesewa in his life!”

“And I housed him in Accra,” Auntie Esi added fiercely. “He returned a bag with a laptop and money he found on campus. A thief does not do that!”

Amidu listened impassively, making notes.

“My daughter is right,” Mrs. Ofori said, holding Abena’s hand. “We checked his background. We don’t just give our daughter to anyone. Kwesi is a good man.”

Abena, tears streaming down her face, spoke up again. “I know his heart. He works harder than anyone. He stays late. He cares about the company. He would never hurt it.”

Finally, Mr. Mensah stepped forward. He placed a document on the desk. “Chief Inspector, this is a copy of the recommendation letter I submitted to the board yesterday. On Monday, Kwesi was to be appointed Regional Director. He is the most honest employee I have ever mentored. Why would a man about to reach the pinnacle of his career throw it all away for… for what? Smuggling?”

Amidu looked at the letter, then at the passionate faces before her. Her gaze finally landed on Osei, who was leaning against the doorframe, silent.

“And you?” she asked. “You are family too? You have nothing to say?”

Osei shrugged, a picture of helpless resignation. “Madam,” he said softly, “life is strange.”

It was a non-answer that said everything and nothing.

Chief Inspector Amidu sighed and closed the file. She leaned forward, clasping her hands.

“I have heard you,” she said, her voice slightly softer but still firm. “I have taken detailed notes of your testimonies. They will be added to the file. But I must be honest with you. The evidence we have is… overwhelming. Detailed manifests, witness statements, and bank records. The magnitude of this case required immediate action. I have already deployed two senior investigators to verify everything.”

She stood up, signalling the end of the meeting. “The docket will be handed over to the police prosecutor tomorrow. Kwesi Dankwa will be arraigned before the court on Monday morning.”

She looked at Mr. Mensah, then at Mr. Ofori. “My advice to you? Get a very good lawyer. Because from what I am seeing in this file, the prosecutor is going to have a very strong case.”