Jude left the police station with a strange feeling in his gut. A crack had appeared in his perfect case. If this ledger existed, it changed everything.

He drove straight to the Ashanti Cocoa Buying Company. Flashing his credentials, he bypassed the nervous staff and went past the Regional Director’s office—the office that should have been Kwesi’s. He entered Kwesi’s office and found the cabinet. And there, in the false bottom wrapped in a brown envelope, was a black notebook.

Jude returned to his car, his heart pounding. He didn’t go back to his office. He drove to a quiet spot near the Kumasi Golf Park, parked under a tree, and tore open the envelope.

He opened the Shadow Ledger.

It was meticulous. Dates. Tonnage. And the registration numbers of the trucks that had carted the stolen goods away.

AS 4552 W

AS 4556 W

AS 4558 W

Jude stared at the numbers. They were familiar. Too familiar. He reached for his phone and dialled a number he knew by heart, the operations manager at his father’s logistics yard.

“Hello, this is Jude. I need to check the location of some of our trucks… yes, check AS 4552 W.”

A pause. Then the voice on the other end confirmed the truck was part of their fleet, currently on a run to Tema.

Jude dropped the phone. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.

The trucks stealing the cocoa didn’t belong to a random syndicate. They belonged to Asamoah Snr.

Kwesi Dankwa hadn’t just been tracking a thief; he had been tracking Jude’s father.

Jude sat there for a long time, the ledger burning his hands. Kojo the accountant, must be the inside man, but the logistics, the transport, the heavy lifting of the crime, that was his father’s empire.

The realisation washed over him like ice water. Justice Boateng’s warning thundered in his ears. No shadows.

If this ledger came to light, it wouldn’t just free Kwesi. It would indict Asamoah Snr. It would reveal that the prestigious prosecutor was the son of a smuggling kingpin. The wedding would be off. His career would be over. He would be a pariah.

He looked at the ledger again. It was the only proof. Without it, Kwesi was just a man living beyond his means with no defence. With it, Kwesi was a hero, and Jude was the son of a criminal.

He started the car, his hands trembling on the steering wheel. He knew where he had to go. He had to see his father.

He found Asamoah Snr in his air-conditioned office at the Suame Magazine logistics yard, a stark contrast to the grease and noise of the mechanics outside. The older man was on the phone, laughing loudly, his feet propped up on his desk. He waved Jude in, finishing his call with a jovial promise of drinks later.

“Jude! My son!” Asamoah Snr boomed, dropping his feet to the floor. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Come to tell me you’ve put another criminal away?”

Jude didn’t smile. He walked to the desk and slammed the black notebook down in front of his father.

“What is this?” Asamoah Snr asked, his smile faltering slightly.

“It’s a record,” Jude said, his voice tight. “A record of stolen cocoa. Dates, times, tons. And most importantly, truck registration numbers.”

Asamoah Snr opened the book, scanning the pages. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look guilty. He just looked annoyed.

“Where did you get this?”

“Kwesi Dankwa gave it to me,” Jude said, leaning over the desk. “He thought it would prove his innocence. He thought he was helping me catch a thief. Instead, he handed me evidence that my own father is a smuggler.”

Asamoah Snr closed the book with a snap. “Sit down, Jude.”

“I don’t want to sit down! Do you realise what this is? This links your trucks directly to the missing cocoa. Kojo, the accountant, is just the middleman. You’re the one moving the goods across the border to the Ivory Coast!”

“It’s business, Jude,” Asamoah Snr said calmly, pouring himself a glass of water. “Cocoa prices in Ghana are fixed. Across the border, they pay double. I’m just… correcting the market inefficiency.”

“It’s illegal! It’s smuggling! And you let an innocent man take the fall for it!”

Asamoah Snr stood up, his face hardening. “Innocent? In this world, innocent is just another word for naive. That boy was asking too many questions. He was going to ruin everything. Kojo did what he had to do to protect our interests.”

“Our interests?” Jude scoffed. “I have no part in this.”

“Don’t you?” Asamoah Snr walked around the desk. “Who paid for your law school? Who bought you that car? Who pays for your vacations, your suits, the house you live in? This business built the platform you stand on to preach your morality.”

Jude recoiled. “I am a State Prosecutor. I swore an oath.”

“And you are also a son. And a fiancé.” Asamoah Snr’s voice dropped, becoming silky and dangerous. “Think, Jude. What happens if you use this book? You arrest me? Your own father? The scandal will be immense. ‘State Prosecutor’s Father Kingpin of Smuggling Ring.’ Do you think Justice Boateng will let his daughter marry into that mess? Do you think he’ll let a man with criminal blood in his veins anywhere near his family? You know how he feels about reputation.”

Jude sank into the chair, the weight of the truth crushing him. “He warned me. He told me he helped you once, thirty years ago. He said he wouldn’t do it again.”

“Exactly,” Asamoah Snr nodded. “Boateng is a proud man. If this comes out, the wedding is off. Your career is over. You’ll be the man who sent his father to prison. Is that the justice you want?”

“But Kwesi… he’s innocent.”

“He’s collateral damage. Look, Jude, I’m selling the company. The deal is almost done. In two weeks, I’ll be out of logistics entirely. I’ll be a retired businessman with clean hands. This,” he tapped the ledger, “is the past. Why destroy your future for the past?”

Jude looked at the ledger, then at his father. He thought of Cynthia, of the dinner the night before, of the way Justice Boateng had looked at him with respect. He thought of the life he had built, the height he had reached.

And he thought of Kwesi Dankwa, sitting in a cell, trusting him.

“Burn it,” Asamoah Snr said softly. “Burn it, and it all goes away. The boy goes to jail, life goes on. He’s young; he’ll survive. But you… You have everything to lose.”

Jude reached out and took the book. His hands were cold. He knew, in that moment, that he was making a choice that would stain his soul forever. He was choosing power over truth. He was becoming his father’s son in a way he had never intended.

“I can’t do this,” Jude whispered, but his grip on the book tightened.

“You have to,” his father said. “For the family. For Cynthia.”

Jude stood up, the ledger feeling like lead in his hand. He didn’t look at his father again. He walked out of the office, into the blinding sun of Suame, carrying the weight of his decision. He drove back to his office, locked the door, and took out a metal wastebasket.

He lit a match.

As the flames licked the edges of the Shadow Ledger, curling the pages and turning the evidence into ash, Jude Asamoah felt something inside him die. He watched until the last ember faded, leaving only grey dust.