I Do Not Come to You by Chance - By Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani Page 0,86
threatening me with the FBI. Haha. Unfortunately, the FBI could not do much to stop us. We had fictitious companies registered with the Corporate Affairs Commission and the Chamber of Commerce. We had account details that had been given to us by several different mugus over time, and we had carried out transactions from thousands of ghost accounts in banks around the globe. Anybody hoping to follow our trail would simply be throwing away their precious time.
My phone rang. It was Charity, calling from a business centre in her school.
‘Kings, they’ve fixed the date for our matriculation. It’s on the twenty-ninth of November. Are you going to be in the country on that day?’
I smiled. My sister probably added that last part to let the keen eavesdroppers know that she had a brother who could afford to travel abroad.
At first, the professor Buchi had recommended scoffed at Charity’s score when I went to visit him at the Abia State University. Then I told him how much I was willing to pay and he agreed to ‘see what I can do’. Three weeks later, Charity’s admission letter to the Department of Philosophy was ready, complete with deputy vice chancellor’s signature.
‘That’s the best I could do,’ he explained. The Law list was already jam-packed and overflowing.
My father would never have allowed his daughter to enrol on such a worthless course, but studying Philosophy was far better than staying home for a whole year, doing nothing. Plus, even though she did not comment on the process, my mother had been pleased. For an additional amount, the professor had assured me that he would switch my sister over to the Law Department by next session.
There was no way I was going to miss her matriculation ceremony. I told my sister so.
‘Thank God,’ she sighed. ‘I was afraid you might be in London again.’
‘Just make a list of everything you require for that day, then call me later and we can discuss it.’
Simple. Education without tears.
I went back to making a living.
‘I’m relocating my campaign headquarters to my building on Mbano Road,’ Cash Daddy announced. ‘It’s not good to mix business with pleasure. So, Kings, I want you to keep an eye on things here.’
It was becoming clearer to me by the day that God must have been speaking to him about this governorship thing for a long time, probably as far back as the day he summoned me into his private office and made me the offer to come and work with him. Somehow, I was touched that he had chosen me. And proud.
‘I’m too big to chase dollars up and down the world,’ he continued. ‘Money should be chasing me instead.’
He went on to explain that life is in stages, that each person must learn to make changes to accommodate each new stage. He said that he had paid his dues in life and it was now time for life to treat him well.
Protocol Officer’s entrance truncated his speech.
‘Cash Daddy, I’ve just been speaking with Grandma,’ he said. ‘She said someone at her bank was warning her about our account.’
As Protocol Officer gave further details, Cash Daddy grew wilder.
‘What do they mean by that?! What type of rubbish is that?!’
Protocol Officer’s ‘Grandma’ lived in Yorkshire. He must have dabbed a very potent mugu potion on his lips the first time he spoke to her, because Grandma was totally consumed with faith in whatever Protocol Officer told her. For centuries, the elderly lady had been trying to help him get his mother out of Nigeria for cancer treatment in the UK. But over time, Grandma’s more perceptive children had cautioned her. Each time, she had disregarded their advice - and now a staff member of the bank had tried. She had once again brought the matter to Protocol Officer’s attention for advice. This Grandma woman was every 419er’s dream.
‘Can you imagine this rubbish?’ Cash Daddy barked. ‘Call the bank for me right now!’
Protocol Officer unlocked a cabinet and whipped out a file. He flipped through and found the number he was looking for, dialled, and asked to speak with the manager before passing the cellular on.
‘Do you know who I am?!’ Cash Daddy bellowed.
Maybe the bank manager did, maybe he did not.
‘Is that the way you treat your big customers? Look, I’m taking this matter to the press! You hear me? You have no right to give out information about what goes on in my account to anybody!’