The family left the Chief Inspector’s office, the weight of Amidu’s words pressing down on them like lead. In the corridor, Mr. Mensah placed a comforting hand on Mr. Ofori’s shoulder.

“I will not rest,” Mr. Mensah vowed, his voice thick with emotion. “I will call every contact I have. I will find the best lawyer in Kumasi for Kwesi. He will not fight this alone.”

At the main desk, Mr. Ofori approached the sergeant once more, hope flickering in his eyes. “Can we just see him? Even for a minute?”

The sergeant shook his head, not unkindly. “Not possible, sir. Protocol. But you can bring him food later in the evening. Around six.”

As the group moved towards the exit, defeated for the moment, Agyeman caught Osei’s eye. He raised an eyebrow, a silent query: Did it work? Did she buy it?

Just then, Osei’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. A text from Kojo.

Let’s meet at 4pm at the place.

Osei looked up and saw Agyeman checking his own phone. The shopkeeper met his gaze and gave a subtle, conspiratorial nod. He had received the same summons.

By 3:45 PM, Kojo was already seated at his usual corner table in the Blue Kiosk. He nursed a Malta Guinness this time, looking every bit the anxious corporate man unwinding after a long week. But his ears were pricked. Two men at a nearby table were arguing loudly over a bowl of soup.

“Did you hear? That Cocoa Company director?” one said, slapping the table. “They picked him up this morning. Smuggling gold in cocoa sacks!”

“Gold? I heard he built three houses in East Legon in one year!” the other countered. “And he was marrying a second wife when the police came!”

Kojo hid a smile behind his glass. The rumour mill was efficient. The truth was already buried under layers of sensationalism. By Monday, Kwesi would be a legend of corruption.

A few minutes later, the bead curtain rattled. Osei and Agyeman walked in, looking around before sliding into the chairs opposite Kojo.

“Gentlemen,” Kojo said, signalling for a round of beers. “To victory.”

They clinked bottles, the condensation cold against their palms.

“It is done,” Agyeman said, wiping froth from his lip. “Bantama is buzzing. Everyone is talking about the ‘big thief.’”

“And the station?” Kojo asked.

“Amidu is tough,” Osei reported, leaning in. “But she swallowed the bait. She’s sending the docket to the prosecutor. Kwesi will be in court on Monday.” He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “But Mensah… he is fighting. He swore to get a lawyer. He was very determined.”

Kojo waved a dismissive hand. “Mensah is a toothless lion. The board has already heard the news. I made sure of that. After this arrest, his word is worth nothing. Some are even saying he must have been involved, or just incompetent. Besides,” Kojo added with a smirk, “the old man retires in two months. He is history.”

Agyeman leaned forward, his greed naked on his face. “So… who takes the seat? Who becomes the Regional Director?”

Kojo straightened his collar, a look of pure arrogance settling on his features. “With Kwesi gone and Mensah disgraced, there is only one logical choice. I am the frontrunner.”

“And us?” Agyeman pressed.

“You will be taken care of,” Kojo promised, his voice dripping with false magnanimity. “When I am Regional Director, the gates will open. Import licenses, contracts… you will not want for anything.”

“I don’t want a contract,” Osei said sharply. “I want a job. A real job. No more driving. No more clerking.”

“You are family now, Osei,” Kojo said smoothly. “You will sit in an air-conditioned office. Trust me.”

Osei checked his watch and stood up abruptly. “I have to go.”

“Go where?” Kojo asked. “We are celebrating.”

“I promised Abena,” Osei said, a strange mix of guilt and entitlement in his voice. “I told her I would go with her to take food to Kwesi.”

Kojo laughed, a low, ugly sound. “Ah. The grieving fiancée. Go then. Comfort her. Now you can have your woman.”

Osei left the kiosk and made his way back to Patasi. The Ofori house was quiet, a stark contrast to the morning’s festivities. He found Mr. Ofori in the living room.

“Uncle,” Osei greeted him respectfully. “How is Abena?”

“She is in the kitchen,” Mr. Ofori said wearily. “Packing food for Kwesi. Thank you, Osei. For being here. I have to go with your Uncle Gyasi to check on Opanyin Dankwa at the hospital. Can you accompany her to the station?”

“Of course, Uncle. It is my duty.”

The ride to the police station was quiet. Osei sat beside Abena in the taxi, playing the part of the concerned cousin perfectly.

“He must be so scared,” Osei murmured, shaking his head. “I just… I worry about what pressure does to a man. Maybe he thought he had no choice. Maybe the debts were too much.”

“He had no debts!” Abena snapped, but her voice lacked its usual fire. The doubt was a seed, and Osei was watering it.

At the station, the routine was strict. The desk sergeant took the plastic bowl of jollof rice. He opened it, sniffing it suspiciously. “Taste it,” he ordered.

Abena and Osei each took a spoonful, proving the food was safe. The sergeant nodded and had an officer take the bowl away.

“Can I see him?” Abena pleaded. “Just for a second?”

“No visitors,” the sergeant said, not looking up.

Inside Cell 4, Kwesi sat on the cold floor, his back against the damp wall. He hadn’t eaten all day, but when the bowl was shoved through the bars, his stomach turned. How could he eat? He forced down two spoonfuls of the rice, the familiar taste of Abena’s cooking bringing fresh tears to his eyes.

Around him, the other inmates watched. They circled like vultures.

“You gonna finish that, big man?” asked a man with missing teeth.

Before Kwesi could even shake his head, three men descended on the bowl. In seconds, it was licked clean.

Outside, the empty bowl was returned to Abena.

“You can bring food tomorrow. Morning and evening,” the officer said, dismissing them.

Osei led a sobbing Abena away. “I am here,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around her. “Call me anytime. I will take care of you.”

That night in the cell was the longest of Kwesi’s life. The mosquitoes were relentless, huge and buzzing with malice. The cold seeped into his bones through his thin shorts. He curled into a ball, trying to find warmth, trying to find sleep.

As an Akan proverb goes, “the eyes do not know sorrow”, he falls asleep dreaming of Abena. In his dream, she was smiling, and he was the Regional Director, and the world was bright. It was a dream that did not match the reality that still awaits him when he wakes up.