Inside the stranded car, the darkness feels heavy and suffocating. All Tola can hear is the woosh of the cars driving by. She is clutching her handbag against her chest like a shield. Right now, it is her only comfort as her phone battery hovers dangerously at twelve percent. Outside, her driver is still frantically poking around under the bonnet, the weak beam of his phone flashlight doing very little to help.
Suddenly, the glaring headlights of an oncoming car shine sharply through the windows. A dark SUV slows down and pulls up directly behind them, its hazard lights blinking in the dark.
Tola’s heart jumps straight into her throat. On the Third Mainland Bridge at this hour, a car stopping behind theirs doesn’t feel like good news.
Before she can even catch her breath, a tall figure steps out of the SUV and walks straight toward her side of the car. Tap, tap, tap. The man knocks on the passenger window repeatedly. Tola shrinks back into her seat, freezing in place.
Through the glass, she watches her driver leave the bonnet and hurry over to the stranger. The two men exchange a few low words, gesturing in the dark, before walking back to the open bonnet together. They are muttering to each other, their faces completely hidden behind the raised car hood.
Tola’s mind immediately starts spinning in several directions.
Is this a set-up? Is my driver in on it? I cannot just stay here like a sitting duck.
Driven by a sudden rush of adrenaline, she decides she is not going to just sit there waiting. Gripping the small can of pepper spray in her bag, she unlocks the door and steps out into the humid night air, trying her best to look brave.
“Excuse me! What is going on here?” she demands, her voice coming out a lot louder than she intended. “Oga, who is this man? What are you people doing?”
The stranger turns around sharply, just as the light from a passing truck hits Tola’s face. His tough stance instantly melts into pure confusion.
“Ah! Aunty Tola?” he asks, blinking dramatically.
Recognition hits her, and Tola feels herself deflate in relief, her defensive posture crumbling. “Mr Femi?”
The heavy wave of panic vanishes in an instant. Mr Femi is the personal driver to Chief Mrs Ajayi, called Aunty Funmi by all the kids. She is one of her mother’s closest friends.
“Yes, ma! E mi ni,” Mr Femi says with a relieved smile. “We were driving back from an event on the Island, and I saw this car parked on the bridge with hazards. Mummy said I must stop to check if everything is okay. She is waiting in the car.”
Tola lets out a massive breath, her fake courage completely disappearing now. She walks quickly past her broken-down ride to the SUV behind them. The back window glides down, revealing Chief Mrs Ajayi looking out with deep concern.
“Tolani mi!” the older woman exclaims, reaching her hand out through the window. “What are you doing stranded on this bridge by this time? Were you working late again? Come inside the car quickly. Femi, help her get her things. We are dropping her straight home!”
By 9:45 PM, Zahrah is finally walking through her front door. She kicks off her flats with a heavy sigh, tossing her work bag onto the sofa. Before she even turns on the living room lights, she dials Tola’s line to make sure she made it home safely.
The phone rings twice before Tola picks up. Her voice sounds unusually quiet and exhausted.
“Zee… I just walked into my compound some 15 minutes ago,” Tola says faintly.
“Babes, what is wrong? Why do you sound like this?” Zahrah asks, catching the strain in her voice immediately.
“My ride completely died on the Third Mainland Bridge, Zahrah. For twenty minutes, I thought I was going to be a kidnapping headline. If my mum’s friend hadn’t randomly passed by and picked me up, I don’t even know what would have happened.”
“What?!” Zahrah screams, her tiredness completely disappearing. “Oh my goodness, Tola! Are you okay? Do you want me to dial the other girls in, or do you just want to get off the line and rest?”
“No, please call everyone,” Tola says quickly, rubbing her temples as she enters her room and flips on her light switch. “I really need to hear you guys right now.”
Zahrah quickly dials in the girls. Eunice and Chinwe join within seconds, their faces instantly filling the screen with deep concern as Tola recounts everything from the breakdown to Mr Femi showing up.
“Thank God for Mummy’s friend, o,” Chinwe says, letting out a huge breath as she adjusts the tape measure around her neck. “Lagos roads at night are really no joke.”
“But wait, Tola,” Eunice cuts in, her practical side kicking in automatically. “Which ride-hail tier did you book? Were you using that cheap option again?”
Tola sighs, looking a bit embarrassed on camera. “Yes, I was trying to save money. We need capital to print our consulting brochures and run those social media ads, so I have been trying to cut down on transport.”
“Ah, Tola, false economy is not the solution nau,” Eunice says gently, leaning closer to her screen.
“Which one is false economy again?” Zahrah asks, laughing.
“In personal finance, a false economy is when you try to save money upfront, but it ends up putting you at a much bigger risk or ends in greater cost later on. When you book the cheapest ride late at night, you are often getting cars that haven’t been serviced in ages. Your safety is not where you cut corners. Paying a little extra for the higher tier late at night isn’t wasting money; it’s paying for your security. If anything happens to you, no amount of saved money can fix that.”
“Eunice is totally right,” Zahrah agrees, leaning back on her sofa. “We cannot be trying to build wealth while putting our safety on the line just to save a few Naira.”
Suddenly, Tola’s bedroom door swings open. Tola looks up from her screen and groans softly.
“Girls, Mummy is here,” Tola whispers, turning her camera slightly so the girls can see her mother standing at the doorway, phone in hand and looking visibly shaken.
“Tolani! Omotolani! Do you want to give me hypertension?!” her mother shouts, her voice full of panic. “I have been calling your line since 8:00 PM! The network kept saying your phone was switched off! Do you know what is happening in this country? Work kept you out this late, again?!”
“Mummy, please calm down. I am so sorry; I didn’t mean to worry you. I think the network has been a bit bad this evening; then it would have been worse the couple of minutes we were stranded on the bridge.” Tola says quickly. “The car I was in had a problem. I just walked in now. Aunty Funmi and her driver actually picked me up and dropped me off.”
Her mother lets out a long, dramatic sigh, the fear finally leaving her face. “I know, she called me to talk to you about working late. I have been reporting you to her. You children are trying to be the death of me. Do not let me catch you coming home this late again!”
She shakes her head and shuts the bedroom door. On the video call, the girls instantly burst out laughing, the heavy mood from earlier completely breaking. They chat for another ten minutes, making sure Tola is settled before finally saying goodnight.
By 10:30 PM, the group chat is quiet.
Eunice is sitting at her desk at home, sipping a warm cup of tea to wind down. She reopens her laptop to finish going through the files for her new corporate client, the fashion boutique that wants a big launch on a tight budget.
She opens the shared drive folder they sent over earlier and clicks on a file named Collection_Moodboard_Final.
As the document loads, Eunice scrolls through the photos of the modest outfits the brand plans to produce and launch next month. Suddenly, she stops mid-sip, her cup frozen halfway to her mouth.
She stares at the screen, her stomach dropping.
The main fabric pattern across the client’s entire new line is a striking infinity design, very similar to one Eunice had shared with her last month; it is supposed to be a part of the final sets of fabrics coming in from her artisan this week. She picks up her phone to scroll through her private chat with Chinwe to have a look at her friend’s version. It isn’t just similar to what Chinwe shared with her; it is an exact, identical copy, right down to the unique geometric border lines, which she knows Chinwe had spent weeks thinking on and sketching by hand.
Eunice sets her phone down slowly, her heart doing somersaults in her chest as the truth sinks in. Her new client is about to launch a collection built mainly on her best friend’s design, and they are paying her to write the strategy for it.
How did they get it?
