Asamoah Snr woke up on Wednesday morning, his eyes gritty from a night spent wrestling with the thoughts of Kwesi Dankwa. The boy was a problem, but a manageable one. He was confident that Jude’s infatuation with Cynthia Boateng would keep his son’s mouth shut; the boy was ambitious, and ambition was a powerful muzzle. His biggest concern was Mr. Mensah. The man had always stayed in his lane, a quiet bureaucrat, but now that his protégé was facing imprisonment, the tortoise might just snap. Mensah knew the company too well. If he started pulling threads, the whole tapestry could unravel.

He needed to get Mensah out of the way. And he needed this man in the Director’s chair, someone compromised, someone he owned. Kojo Danso. With Kojo as Regional Director, any potential leak would be plugged with concrete.

Asamoah Snr picked up the phone and dialled Kojo’s number.

“Good morning, boss,” Kojo’s voice came through, eager and slightly trembling.

“Kojo,” Asamoah Snr barked, dispensing with pleasantries. “What is the board planning regarding the new Regional Director?”

“Tomorrow, sir. They meet tomorrow. I… I have a good chance to be nominated.”

“A good chance isn’t a guarantee. What about Mensah? He will object.”

“He will, sir. And he has friends on the board. But… well, some members no longer see him as influential. In fact, there are whispers that perhaps he knew about Kwesi’s activities, or even benefited from them.”

“Good. That is good. But we cannot leave it to whispers. We have to ensure he is off the board’s radar completely.”

“He retires in a month, sir, and—”

“A month is an eternity!” Asamoah Snr snapped. “A month is thirty days for him to dig, to find something. Too far. We cannot risk it. We have to ensure you get the job tomorrow. Don’t worry, I will handle it.”

He hung up and immediately dialled his investment banker at the Ghana Merchant Bank.

“Good morning, sir,” the banker answered smoothly.

“I need advice,” Asamoah Snr said, leaning back in his leather chair. “I need to invest some funds. Substantial funds.”

“Are you interested in capital gains or dividends, sir?”

“I am an old man. I don’t have the time or heart to follow the ups and downs of stock prices. I want traditional businesses. History of consistent dividends. But more importantly, I want businesses where a substantial investment buys me a seat on the board. I want to keep my eye on my money.”

“I understand. We should look around mining, agriculture, banking, and insurance.”

“Give me options.”

“Well, for banking, NCB Bank and Star Bank are top tier. NCB’s shares are performing well. If you can invest… let’s say, seven million dollars, you can certainly demand a seat on the board. Would that interest you?”

“Yes. Put it down. Mining?”

“Mothram Ltd. It’s a small, family-owned mining services company looking for institutional investment. They have ten-year contracts with the two biggest mining companies in Ghana. Solid profit history. It fits your criteria perfectly.”

“How much for a board seat?”

“Between two and three million dollars should do it.”

“Great. Add that to the NCB investment. Now, agriculture. Anything in coffee or cocoa?”

“Let me check… yes. Sankofa Agro Processing Ltd and Ashanti Cocoa Buying Company are the stars. Sankofa is overpriced in my opinion. But Ashanti Cocoa… their share price has taken a hit this week after the smuggling scandal involving one of their managers. It’s been all over the news.”

“Is it a good investment?” Asamoah Snr asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh, perfect, if you aren’t looking for a quick flip. They have excellent fundamentals and a history of paying dividends. They are just… undervalued right now due to the panic.”

“How much do I need to invest to get a seat on the board?”

“With the current dip? Four to six million dollars should secure it easily.”

“Okay. Get me the necessary shares. By the close of the day.”

“Yes, sir. I will execute the trades and update you by 4 PM.”

By 5 PM, Asamoah Snr was pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey. He had just spent fifteen million dollars—money he had made from the very smuggling ring he was now moving to protect. He now held board seats in NCB Bank, Mothram Ltd, and, crucially, the Ashanti Cocoa Buying Company. Phase one was complete.

He picked up his phone again. “Charles,” he said into the receiver. “Come to my office. We need to talk.”

Charles Edu was Asamoah Snr’s right hand, left hand, and occasionally, his conscience, though a very quiet one. He had taken Charles off the streets when the boy was fourteen, raised him, educated him, and moulded him. Charles would take a bullet for the old man without blinking.

“Sit down, Charles,” Asamoah Snr said when the younger man entered. “You know that in just two weeks, we complete the sale of this logistics company. The new owners say they won’t lay off staff, but there are no guarantees in this life. I want to ensure my people are secure.”

He slid a folder across the desk.

“I have invested in three companies. I have a seat on the board of each. I want you to take those seats. You will represent my interests.”

Charles’s eyes widened. This was a promotion beyond his wildest dreams. A board member of three major companies? He would be a ‘big man’ in his own right. “Sir… thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just listen. I have been informed that the board of the Ashanti Cocoa Buying Company meets tomorrow to discuss the appointment of a new Regional Director. You will attend that meeting.” Asamoah Snr leaned forward, his eyes hard. “You will insist on an immediate internal investigation regarding the charges against Kwesi Dankwa. You will demand that all collaborators be identified. And you will insist that the current office manager, Mr. Mensah, proceeds on indefinite leave immediately to allow for this investigation.”

Charles nodded, absorbing the instructions.

“And finally,” Asamoah Snr said, taking a sip of his whiskey, “you will vote for Kojo Danso for the position of Regional Director.”

While Asamoah Snr was plotting the final moves of his chess game, across town, Mr. Mensah was holding a war council of his own. He had gathered a few trusted staff members in his office, the blinds drawn.

“We know Kwesi is innocent,” Mensah said, his voice low but fierce. “And we know that the ledger didn’t just disappear. Lawyer Kwarteng needs facts to fill the gaps in Kwesi’s memory.”

He laid out the plan for “Operation Eagle Eye.” It was a desperate, grassroots investigation. They would scour the archives, track the truck movements manually, and talk to the drivers who had been afraid to speak up before.

“We start tomorrow,” Mensah said. “We dig until we find the truth.”

As his small band of loyalists left his office, filled with righteous determination, Charles Edu was leaving Asamoah Snr’s office, filled with the power of his new authority. Both teams had two men as their targets – one team bent on vindicating Kwesi and exposing Kojo Danso, the other determined to catapult Kojo as Regional Director and seal the silence of Kwesi Dankwa.

On Thursday morning, Mr. Mensah drove into the car park of the Ashanti Cocoa Buying Company with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years. He held his regular staff meeting, trying to keep up appearances, but his mind was on the noon meeting with his “Eagle Eye” team.

As he walked back to his office, a sleek black car pulled up to the main entrance. Charles Edu stepped out, adjusting his suit. He walked to the reception with the air of a man who owned the place.

“I am Charles Edu,” he told the receptionist. “I am the new board member. Show me to the boardroom.”

The receptionist, flustered, led him upstairs. The other board members were already seated. They welcomed Charles, offered him tea, and the meeting began.

Downstairs, Mr. Mensah returned from his staff meeting and sat at his desk. He wiggled the mouse to wake his computer. Two new emails popped up in his inbox.

The first was to all staff from the Board Secretary.

Subject: Appointment of Regional Director

Dear Staff, We are pleased to announce that Mr. Kojo Danso has been appointed Regional Director, effective immediately…

Mensah’s heart sank like a stone. He hadn’t even been consulted. Kojo? The man whose books were a mess? How could the board be so blind?

He clicked on the second email. It was marked ‘Confidential’.

Subject: Administrative Leave

Dear Mr. Mensah, In light of the ongoing investigation into the financial irregularities involving Mr. Kwesi Dankwa, the Board has decided to place you on indefinite administrative leave, effective immediately. This is to ensure a transparent investigation into potential administrative oversights…

He stared at the screen, the words blurring. Suspended? For possible involvement?

Charles had done his work with ruthless efficiency. He had convinced the board that a clean sweep was necessary, that the old guard was tainted. If the first email had dented “Operation Eagle Eye,” the second had snapped the neck of the eagle before it could even take flight.

As Mensah stared blankly at the ceiling, his phone buzzed. It was Lawyer Kwarteng.

“Good morning, Mr. Mensah,” the lawyer’s voice was hopeful. “Are you making any headway? We need something.”

Before Mensah could find the breath to answer, his office door opened. Kojo Danso walked in, flanked by two security guards. He wasn’t smiling. He looked every inch the new power in the room.

“Mr. Mensah,” Kojo said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Please pack your bag and leave the premises immediately. Security will escort you out.”

Mensah looked at Kojo, then at the phone in his hand, and finally at the empty office that had been his life for twenty years. He realised then that the game was rigged, and he had just lost.