The motor hummed gently as I drove the SUV down the lengthy driveway. The estate's gates loomed behind me, their iron bars securing a world most people could only fathom. I recognized every crack in the pavement and every bend that led to the house. This had been my routine for the previous seven years: driving the Onyeka's anywhere they wanted to go. But no matter how comfortable I was with the road, something about this work always seemed... strange.
To the outside world, the Onyekas were an ideal family. Dr. Dapo was a powerful figure who saved lives as a well-known surgeon. His wife, Madam Adaora, was an image of poise and elegance, often appearing in glossy magazine covers. Their children, who were now studying overseas, were talked about with pride, as if they were royalty. The Onyekas were the family that everyone aspired to imitate.
But I'd seen stuff.
The type of things that made me question whether excellence came at a cost.
I drove up to the front of the home, taking care to park exactly where Madam Adaora preferred—along the marble stairs leading to the door. She was quite careful about these issues, and I had learned the hard way not to cross her. The lady had a sharp eye and even sharper tongue.
As I walked out to open the back door, I saw her standing by the window, observing. She did this frequently—watched. I wasn't sure whether it was out of paranoia or control, but it made my skin crawl.
Dr. Dapo exited from the home, his phone placed to his ear as usual. He hardly acknowledged me as I opened the door for him. That was not uncommon. He said few words, most of which were kept for his patients or business acquaintances.
I stepped back into the driver's seat and adjusted the rearview mirror. In it, I saw Dr. Dapo's face. His brow wrinkled, and his jaw tightened. He was uptight, which was how he usually conducted himself. It made me wonder how much weight a guy like him had to carry.
The journey was quiet, save for the odd buzz of his phone. My thoughts strayed to the rumors I'd overheard among the workers over the years. The Onyekas had a history that they kept hidden as firmly as the doors of the east wing of the house.
There was the controversy from five years ago, which no one dared to discuss publicly. I didn't know all of the facts, but I recall the day it broke. Reporters flooded the gates, flashing cameras and yelling unanswered questions. Madam Adaora released a statement the next morning, her remarks cold and planned, denying everything.
The story vanished as fast as it had emerged. Money, influence, or fear—I wasn't sure what muted the voices, but I felt the family was hiding something.
As I navigate Lagos' hectic streets, I thought of Tayo, the new girl. She seemed eager, even overeager, to fit into this environment. I wondered how long it would be before the fractures in the Onyekas' facade were obvious to her.
When we arrived at the hospital, Dr. Dapo walked out without saying anything, walking inside the glass building with his name on a golden plaque. I waited in the vehicle, watching folks go past, each engrossed in their own world.
The Onyekas lived in a highly managed world where appearances were more important than truth. But I'd learned that no matter how high your walls are, secrets will find their way through the holes.
As I drove back to the estate, the weight of those secrets seemed greater than normal. Something was simmering in that home that I couldn't put my finger on. I only prayed that when it came to light, I'd be far enough away to avoid being caught in the storm