Three weeks into Kwesi’s sentence, the Ofori household was a place of hushed voices and heavy hearts. Abena sat at the kitchen table, a single
Ten miles away, in the quiet, manicured suburb of Nhyiaeso, Jude Asamoah stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in his dressing room, adjusting his cufflinks. The
The heavy iron gates of the Ashanti Central Prison (ACP) did not just close; they groaned with the finality of a tombstone being slid into
The air conditioner in Lawyer Kwarteng’s office hummed with a low buzz, the only sound in the room besides the scratching of his pen. It
Uncle Gyasi sat in the middle row of the STC bus as it rumbled out of the Asafo terminal, leaving the chaos of Kumasi behind.
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
Later that afternoon, after the dust had settled in the yard of the Ashanti Cocoa Company, Kwesi was once more led to the interrogation room.
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
While Jude was being chauffeured to the affluent neighbourhood of Nhyiaeso for dinner with Justice Boateng, a very different kind of meeting was taking place
The Monday morning sun struggled to pierce through the heavy harmattan haze that hung over the Kumasi Circuit Court. The air was thick with tension,
