Chapter 5 - BLOOD TIES AND FROZEN TRUTHS
The penthouse atop the forty-story Oceanview Towers on Victoria Island was silent, sterile, and fortified like a military bunker. Private security guards armed with Belgian assault rifles patrolled the perimeter corridors, while bulletproof floor-to-ceiling glass offered a panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean churning under dark storm clouds.
Chidinma sat on an Italian leather sectional, wrapped in a plush cashmere blanket that cost more than her stall in Oyingbo could generate in five years. She held a mug of hot tea between her trembling palms, her eyes wide and disoriented as she looked at the towering oil paintings, the modern sculptures, and the silver-framed photographs decorating the penthouse.
Every single photograph featured her face.
Her face at a gala in Paris. Her face on a yacht in Dubai. Her face holding a glass of champagne beside Jerry at a presidential banquet.
"It's like looking at a ghost who stole my life," she whispered, her voice hollow.
Jerry stood across the room, watching her while an elite private physician, Dr. Samuel Adebayo, packed up his sterile medical kit. Twenty minutes earlier, Dr. Adebayo had taken buccal swabs and blood samples from both Chidinma and a hairbrush left behind in Mirabel’s master vanity.
"The express thermal cycler will have the preliminary DNA markers in forty-five minutes, Jerry," Dr. Adebayo said quietly, his voice heavy with professional disbelief. "But as a physician who treated Mirabel for chronic migraines for three years... I don't need a lab report to tell you what my eyes are seeing. Monozygotic twins. The cellular structure, the scar tissue, the dental arch—it’s identical."
Jerry ran a hand over his face. "Chief Arthur Cole swore Mirabel was an only child. He adopted her privately through an agency that burned down in 1998."
"Then Arthur Cole lied to you," a cold, smooth voice announced from the entryway.
Jerry snapped his head up.
Walking into the penthouse was Marcus Okafor, Jerry’s younger brother and the Chief Operating Officer of Okafor International. Marcus was thirty-two, sharply dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit, his hair meticulously trimmed, carrying a leather portfolio under his arm.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks the second he saw Chidinma sitting on the sofa.
The portfolio slipped from his fingers, spilling legal briefs and financial audits across the hardwood floor. Marcus went completely pale, his Adam's apple bobbing violently as his mouth opened and closed without producing a sound.
"J-Jerry..." Marcus stammered, pointing a shaking finger at Chidinma. "What... what kind of sick joke is this? Who is that woman?!"
"Her name is Chidinma," Jerry said, his eyes narrowing slightly at his brother’s extreme reaction. "I found her in Oyingbo Market this afternoon. Someone tried to execute us on the street fifteen minutes later."
Marcus wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand. "Execution? Jerry, you’ve lost your mind! You are having a psychotic break from grief! Mirabel is dead! We held the memorial service two days ago! We are signing the estate probate documents tomorrow morning!"
"Look at her, Marcus!" Jerry snapped, his voice booming through the expansive penthouse. "Look at her face! Look at the scar! Look at her eyes! Do you really believe a stranger walked out of a village and accidentally developed Mirabel’s exact genetic code?!"
Chidinma slowly stood up from the sofa, letting the cashmere blanket fall to her shoulders. She looked directly at Marcus.
A strange, sudden flicker of recognition crossed her features.
"Wait," Chidinma murmured, her brow furrowing deeply as she studied Marcus’s face. "I know you."
Marcus took a hurried step backward toward the doorway. "You don't know me! I’ve never seen you in my life!"
"Three weeks ago," Chidinma said, her voice growing stronger, more certain with every second. "You came to the market with two men in a black tinted pickup. You stood near the cold-room entrance and watched me for an hour while I was scaling fish. You took pictures with your phone."
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The room went completely, suffocatingly quiet.
Jerry turned his head toward his brother, every muscle in his body turning to iron. "Marcus. Why were you photographing fish sellers in Oyingbo three weeks before my wife’s car exploded?"
