Bound to Favor

by Kiru Taye

  Her pulse skyrocketed. Butterflies fluttered in her belly.

  Inexplicably, she fell in love for the second time in her life.

  The first time had been the love of a daughter for a father. A man she had loved all of her life. Seeing his picture today had resurrected her anguish at losing him.

  Now her heart desired another man, in a different way, someone with whom she could share a life and a future.

  Except, it would never happen, as her sister had already claimed the man, just as she had taken Ebun’s father.

  A new obsession overwhelmed Ebun. She didn’t heed her mother’s warning. Although she didn’t contact her father and other members of his family, she kept tabs on them.

  She researched the rest of her siblings, collecting as much information as she could, where they lived, where they worked, which schools they attended.

  She found information from newspapers and magazines and put them all in a scrap book. With the advent of the World Wide Web, it became easier to locate people.

  And since her siblings were quick to announce their achievements to the world via the media, she found it easy to keep track of them and knew when there was a wedding, a birth or a funeral in the family.

  At the same time, her career progressed. She sought employment with companies that had an international reach and did business in Africa. She proved to be smart, and hardworking, excelling at her job and earning promotions on a fast-track programme.

  So when years later the cement manufacturing company she worked was acquired by the fast growing company in Nigeria, she thought it was serendipity.

  She met with the head of HR and asked to be considered for any positions in the new firm that involved working in Nigeria. Soon enough she got her chance when there was an opening for maternity cover to the CEO’s assistant.

  Her mother wasn’t happy when she heard the news of Ebun moving to Lagos.

  “Don’t you dare come back with an African husband,” she’d warned on the phone.

  Ebun didn’t care. She just wanted a chance to be in the same country as her father and the man she loved. There wouldn’t be an ocean and a continent separating them anymore.

  And perhaps, one day she could prove that she too deserved love and affection.

  Chapter One

  Family could make you or break you.

  Like an omen, the words reverberated in Kamali Danladi’s mind as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button that would take him to the top floor of the Thomas International Tower.

  Adrenaline rushed through him. He stood legs wide apart, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, shoulders straight, staring ahead as the brushed aluminium doors slid shut.

  Cold air blew down from the vents in the ceiling. His silhouette echoed from the satiny surface of the polished metal.

  Family could make you or break you. His mind replayed the phrase etched in his heart. A remark which underlined his existence, so much so that he could mark each year as a ‘make’ or a ‘break’ year.

  He’d lived through the highs and lows of familial ties, risen out of the extreme experiences that had moulded him into the man he’d become. He’d built a stable life despite everything and now headed a successful business.

  He never took anything for granted, never rested on his laurels. Rest was for the dead.

  As a grandson of Abubakar Danladi who had founded the Danladi Group of Companies, one of the largest conglomerates in Africa, Kamali had been born to triumph and master his universe.

  The Danladi clan could trace their lineage to the ancient Katsina Kingdom established in the 10th century before Islam was introduced in the 15th century.

  The elevator pinged, announcing its arrival at the intended level.

  His limbs tingled. A knot sat in his gut. The forthcoming meeting unsettled him.

  However, he didn’t have time to dwell on his misgivings.

  He relaxed the muscles on his face, shook out his shoulders and strode out when the doors opened.

  The tapping of fingers on keyboards reached him as he took in the expansive open-plan office space with workers hunched over the rows of flint-coloured modular desks.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Danladi,” a smiling, dark-skinned, smartly-dressed woman greeted him in the light and airy foyer. She appeared to be in her early 30s. “I’m Jane, Ike’s assistant.”

  Kamali’s skin prickled at her use of Mr. Thomas’s first name. His assistant, Ebun Forson, had never addressed him by his given name. Not that he’d ever encouraged it. He didn’t want the implied familiarity or for others to misconstrue their working relationship.

  Was Ike Thomas having an illicit affair with his PA for her to use his name so casually? The man was married. Then again, extra-marital liaisons were commonplace, a festering sore on society.

  The knot in Kamali’s gut tightened and his jaw set in a rigid line. He shouldn’t care. It wasn’t his business if the man was cheating on his wife.

  He plastered a smile on his face and focused on the reason for his visit. “Thank you, Jane. I’m here to meet Mr. Coker. Has he arrived?”

  “Yes, sir. They are both in Ike’s office. This way, please.” She swivelled and hurried down the aisle between columns of desks, the buzz of business in the air.

  At the end of the walkway, the silver plaque had an embossment showing ‘Managing Director.’ Jane tapped with her knuckles and turned the handle.

  “Mr. Danladi is here,” she announced and pushed the door wide for him to go through.

  The sleek, clean line of the ultra-modern building continued in here. The space made up of glass, metal and leather furniture had a panoramic view of the sandy beach, teal Atlantic Ocean, and azure sky.

  The internal glass partitioning had a cloud glaze which obscured the light from the main floor, while a sun-sensitive screen blocked out the sun glare on the outside wall.

  Fresh air blasted in from the vents in the white ceiling, making a mockery of the thirty-two degrees Celsius reading on his phone as the outside temperature.

  The two men who had been seated opposite each other at the glass-topped desk stood and approached. Their suit jackets hung over the back of the chairs they abandoned.

  His cousin, Henry Coker, reached him first, arms extended and a warm smile on his face. “Kamali, it’s good to see you.”

  Henry, or rather, Omar as the rest of the Danladi clan referred to him, was also a grandson of Abubakar Danladi, although he had dropped the Danladi surname in favour of his maternal last name after his parents split up.

  Kamali had to resist from doing a double take. Henry reminded him too much of another cousin, Jibril who was Henry’s half-brother.

  Nonetheless, most of the Danladi men had all inherited the height, build and skin-tone of Grandpa Abubakar, so they were recognisable as relatives, including Kamali.

  Kamali grabbed his cousin’s hand with his right and clasped the shoulder with his left, just as Henry did. It wasn’t a brotherly hug, but it was welcoming and indicated they were more than acquaintances. “Same here, Henry.”

  He’d debated whether to use his cousin’s first name of Omar. But as they hadn’t interacted since they’d been boys and he’d come here for a business meeting, he’d settled on Henry.

  “Have you met my friend, Ike?” Henry asked as he released his hand.

  “Yes,” Kamali replied. “I think we met once at the Nigeria Build Expo.”

  “Of course we did. It’s good to see you again.” Ike stepped forward, and they exchanged a formal handshake this time. “Please, take a seat.”

  Ike waved at the cluster of white leather and chrome sofas separated by a low clear glass and chrome coffee table and a woven mocha rug.

  His suspicious nature made Kamali chose the sofa facing the exit. When he was in an unknown situation, he made sure he had his bases covered.

  Although Henry was his cousin, he didn’t know the man well enough beyond what he’d read in the media or heard from other members o
f the family. Henry had lived most of his life outside the Danladi clan, after the acrimonious breakup of his parents’ marriage.

  Ike sat opposite while Henry settled in the space next to him. The men wanted to be able to observe him just as he needed to watch them.

  Jane returned with a small tray containing a bottle of water and three tall glasses half-filled with ice cubes. The men waited as she deposited the items on the table.

  “Will you need anything else?” she asked as she straightened, tray in right hand.

  “That will be all. Thanks,” Ike replied and leaned forward to grab the bottle.

  Her shoes tapped on the hard, pewter tiles as she walked out. With a click, the door shut behind her.

  Ike asked, “Would you like water?”

  “Sure. Thank you.” Kamali replied, seated halfway onto the padded cushion, not on edge and not relaxed either.

  As Ike filled the glasses, the cubes tinkled and swirled inside while condensation settled on the outside.

  “How’s your daughter? Her name is Fari, right?” Henry leaned forward, lower arms on his thighs, head tilted to the side.

  Kamali had to make an effort to conceal his surprise at the genuine expression of interest. He hadn’t been expecting his cousin to know much about his personal life or to care, for that matter. They hadn’t been close, not even when they’d been boys, and Henry had lived in Katsina.

  Kamali had had enough troubles on his plate then to worry about the problems Henry had been experiencing with his father and subsequently, the feud with his brother.

  Now, a touch of shame scorched his cheeks that he’d never enquired about his cousin or sought him out before. Being raised as Danladi had fostered the spirit of competitiveness among cousins and even brothers. This meant selfish streaks ran in their blood.

  Henry’s enquiry about his daughter warmed Kamali’s heart, and his smile brightened. The man harboured some familial affection for him, though they’d only renewed their acquaintance as cousins during a recent family gathering.

  It could also just be Henry playing the astute business man and trying to score favourable points with him, the cynic in Kamali reminded.

  In any case, his daughter was the light of his life. He appreciated the sentiment regardless of the motive. “Yes, her name is Fari, and she’s doing great. Thanks for asking.”

  “Don’t mention it. As Musa said the last time we got together, we’re all blood, and we should be our brothers’ keepers. Your daughter is a daughter to me too.” Henry reached for his untouched glass of water.

  In light of the recently ended feud between Henry and Jibril, it proved another surprise to see Henry being so accommodating. Experience had taught Kamali to be suspicious of everyone. In the end, he only trusted one person. Himself.

  “I’m astonished you’re willing to forgive and forget, considering what happened,” he said. He wasn’t fooled into buying the ‘brothers’ keepers’ spiel. His cousin had to still be carrying a grudge. Kamali would never have forgiven Jibril for what he’d done.

  Henry took a sip of water. It seemed he needed to pause, gather his thoughts and choose his words.

  Kamali’s body tensed as he prepared for all the different platitudes Henry could possibly espouse to support his supposed position—to err is human, to forgive is divine. Blah blah blah.

  If he had a Naira for every time someone in Nigeria spouted that bullshit, he’d be a millionaire. Then again, he was a millionaire. So he didn’t need to hear the crap. Certainly not today.

  Henry put the glass down on the table in a deliberate motion and met Kamali’s gaze. “You’re referring to the animosity between Jibril and me?”

  Kamali nodded.

  Something akin to pain flickered in Henry’s eyes. He leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his palms together. “Will I ever forget what Jibril did? Never. Will I forgive him one day? Possibly. Have I moved on from the past? Yes.”

  Kamali’s lungs constricted, making it hard to breathe as he relived old heartache.

  Henry’s impassioned honesty made him acquire new respect for his cousin. Not many people would speak the truth and bare their souls in this manner to someone who was little more than an acquaintance, even if they were related.

  At this moment, he connected with Henry in a way he had never done with any of his Danladi cousins. They had similar pasts—deceived and burned by family.

  His inbuilt suspicions crumbled.

  Ike watched him with the same assessing intensity that Henry did. The two men had no secrets between one another. It made sense since they were business partners and best friends, by the look of things.

  Kamali couldn’t claim to have the same type of relationship with his business associates.

  He carried too many secrets, things hidden in his heart that he had never divulged. He almost envied his cousin the intimacy he shared with his friend that enabled them to confide in each other. He’d never had that with anyone.

  “I appreciate your frankness, cousin,” he said, finally letting his body sink into the comfortable leather seat. “On behalf of my branch of the Danladi family, I want to offer you my support, in any way that you need it.”

  He’d probably just shot himself in the foot by siding with Henry instead of Jibril. Jibril was a hard man to cross. But he would accept Henry’s integrity over Jibril’s disloyalty any day.

  In any case, Musa, their cousin and the Emir of Katsina, had already settled the quarrel between the brothers and warned of dire consequences if anyone stepped out of line again. Whether Jibril would heed the warning remained debatable.

  Henry glanced at Ike who tilted his head and gave the nod before he turned back to face Kamali with a broad smile on his face.

  “Thank you for the offer. I really appreciate it. Thankfully the matter with Jibril is settled.” He shifted forward in his seat. “We invited you here for a different purpose. I hope that the outcome will strengthen our relationship both personally and professionally.”

  Kamali glanced from Ike to Henry as he leaned forward. “I’m certainly interested.”

  Five years ago, Kamali took over as CEO of Danladi Cement Plc which was a subsidiary of the Danladi Group of Companies. The headquarters was in Lagos, not far from his current location, although they had several factories in Nigeria and across Africa. The vision and success of the firm rested on his shoulders.

  “Good,” Henry said. “Thomas International and Coker Construction already have a well established partnership. Our association is built on trust.”

  Ike nodded in agreement but didn’t say anything.

  “I’ve watched the way you’ve handled Danladi Cement in the past years,” Henry continued. “And I believe your ethos matches up to ours, which is the reason I think we can work together.”

  “Thank you,” Kamali said. It had been a hard slug to prove that he was capable of heading the business and was glad that his efforts had been recognised.

  “An opportunity has risen that we think will benefit our companies as well as yours,” Ike said as he reached for his glass of water. “But it’s still early stages and what we have to tell you is strictly confidential.”

  “Of course. I understand,” Kamali said as his heart sped up. New business opportunities were rare with a stagnant economy, so he explored any chances that came along.

  “Good. We’re bidding for the contract to build a new state-of-the-art international sports stadium in Gabon and we would like to partner with Danladi Cement.”

  Chapter Two

  Was it possible to love something and loath it with equal measure?

  From as far back as she could remember Ebun had experienced alternating emotions that swung from one extreme to the other when it came to her relationship with most things in her life—parents, friends, lovers and now, this country, Nigeria.

  Sitting in the back seat of an executive car while the chauffeur navigated the crawling line of Friday night Lagos traffic, the question plagued her.
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  The upside, she didn’t have to drive in the chaotic jam. Not that she would even attempt to operate a vehicle in this town. When she’d gotten her licence, they hadn’t prepared her for Lagos drivers.

  The downside, she’d be late to meet her boyfriend, Jonah. She hated being late.

  Three years ago she’d signed up for this job away from her home in England. Four thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean and Sahara desert, she’d swapped freezing cold winters for blazing hot Harmattan.

  At first, she’d been shocked by the chaos, the mad hustle and bustle of the business world, as well as the ‘God-dey’ attitude to life where punishment was left to the supreme being and government was not held to task for its ineffectiveness by the citizens.

  She’d wanted to go home after the first few weeks.

  Over time, she had become accustomed to the rhythm of the beautiful mayhem, discovered elegance in the cultural heritage and fallen in love with the entrepreneurial spirit of the locals as well as the glittering nightlife.

  Now, she stayed, in no hurry to return to the dreary and dull life she’d left.

  Not when she had a chauffeur-driven vehicle as well as a furnished apartment as part of her benefits package. Not when she got to work as the Executive Assistant to the CEO of Danladi Cements.

  Kamali Danladi—her tall, dark and handsome boss, his warm hickory skin tone, his piercing tawny eyes and sexy stern voice made him a charm to work for, as well as his command of business and professionalism did.

  Her stomach flipped, and she shook her head, shoving his image away from her mind.

  “John, I’m going to get off here and walk the rest of the way,” she said in frustration when they’d only moved one hundred yards in twenty minutes. “When you get there just park and wait for me.”

  “Yes, Ma,” the driver replied, a middle-aged man in white shirt, black trousers uniform.