Amara checked her email three times before leaving home.
The message was still there.
Or rather, the space where the message had appeared was still there.
She had searched her inbox, refreshed the page and checked her spam folder. Nothing. She even searched the unfamiliar email address, but the result came back empty.
It was as though the message had never existed.
She stared at her phone for a moment before locking it.
Maybe it had been recalled. Maybe the sender had deleted it. Maybe she had imagined the whole thing because she was tired.
That last possibility annoyed her.
She remembered the exact words.
If you have seen Mariam Yusuf’s name, do not ask anyone in this office about her.
People did not imagine sentences like that.
By 8:17 a.m., Amara was at her desk.
The office was already busy. Someone was arguing with the receptionist about a missing payment receipt, the printer near the accounts department was making its usual unpleasant noise, and Mr. Okafor’s office door was closed.
She switched on her computer and tried to concentrate on the files assigned to her.
For the next twenty minutes, she managed.
Then she noticed something.
The folder labelled OKE-AYO COMMUNITY CLAIMS REGISTER was no longer on her desk.
She looked beneath the other documents, checked the cabinet beside her chair and even opened the drawer where she kept files awaiting digitisation.
Nothing.
She turned towards the accounts assistant sitting across the room.
“Please, did someone take the brown folder that was here yesterday?”
The woman looked up briefly.
“Which folder?”
“The old Oke-Ayo documents. The ones I was asked to scan.”
“Oh. I saw Mr. Okafor’s assistant carrying some files into his office this morning.”
Amara nodded.
“Thank you.”
She returned to her screen.
So the folder was with Mr. Okafor.
That should have settled the matter. He had asked her to leave it with him, after all.
Still, she could not stop thinking about the loose sheet.
She remembered finding it tucked between the pages of the register. Names, telephone numbers and a reference number that did not match the rest of the documents.
She had not scanned it.
She had not photographed it.
And now she could not even remember whether she had seen the full list of names before placing the folder on Mr. Okafor’s desk.
She leaned back in her chair.
“You’re thinking too much,” Tobi would have said.
Unfortunately, Tobi was not there.
At about eleven, Mr. Okafor stepped out of his office.
“Amara.”
She looked up.
“Yes, sir?”
“Come in for a moment.”
He was standing beside his desk when she entered. The brown folder lay on the table, neatly closed. Beside it was another stack of documents.
“About the Oke-Ayo file,” he began.
Amara waited.
“I understand you came across an old register yesterday.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you make any copies?”
“No, sir. I hadn’t started scanning it.”
“Did you remove anything from the folder?”
The question came too quickly.
She paused.
“No, sir.”
He studied her face for a moment.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, sir. I only looked through some of the pages.”
He nodded and placed one hand on the folder.
“Good. That file is being reviewed. It should not be accessed until further notice.”
“All right, sir.”
“And Amara?”
“Yes?”
“If anyone asks you about those documents, direct them to me. There’s no need to discuss old company records with people who have no business with them.”
She nodded again.
“Understood.”
He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.
“You can go.”
Amara returned to her desk with a question she did not want to ask.
Why was he so interested in whether she had removed anything?
She tried to put the thought aside.
At lunchtime, she called Tobi.
“Have you ever heard of a place called Oke-Ayo?”
There was a brief silence.
“Why?”
“Just asking.”
“That is not an answer.”
Amara smiled faintly.
“I’m serious. Have you heard of it?”
“I think I’ve heard the name before. Somewhere in the South-West, right?”
“I think so.”
“What happened there?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Tobi laughed.
“Amara, please. You and your investigations. Is this how you want to spend your lunch break?”
“I’m not investigating anything.”
“Of course.”
Amara ignored the comment.
“I found some old documents at work. There was a woman’s name in them. Mariam Yusuf.”
The laughter stopped.
“Mariam who?”
“Mariam Yusuf.”
Tobi took a moment before responding.
“Wait. Wasn’t there a story about a woman who disappeared after some land compensation issue years ago? I can’t remember the details, but I think I’ve heard something like that.”
Amara sat up.
“Where did you hear it?”
“I honestly don’t remember. It could have been a conversation, something online, or even a news report. Don’t quote me.”
“Do you remember anything else?”
“No. Why? Is that the woman in your documents?”
“Maybe.”
Tobi sighed.
“Please, just be careful. You don’t even know what you’re looking at.”
Amara looked towards Mr. Okafor’s office.
“That’s the problem. I don’t.”
They ended the call shortly afterwards.
For the rest of the afternoon, Amara tried to focus on work. She completed two batches of scanned documents and corrected several errors in the company’s digital records.
At 4:26 p.m., she received an email from the administrative department.
Subject: Archive Review
All staff are reminded that documents marked for internal review must not be copied, transferred or discussed outside the authorised team. Any unauthorised access should be reported to management.
She read it twice.
It was a general notice. There was nothing unusual about it.
Still, the timing made her uncomfortable.
She shut down her computer at five and packed her bag.
As she walked towards the lift, she noticed Mr. Okafor standing near the reception desk, speaking to a man she had never seen before.
The man wore a dark shirt and held a slim leather folder under one arm. He looked older than Mr. Okafor, perhaps in his late forties or early fifties.
Amara would have walked past without paying attention, except for one thing.
The brown Oke-Ayo folder was in his hand.
She slowed down.
Mr. Okafor was speaking in a low voice. The man listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable.
Then he glanced towards her.
Their eyes met briefly.
Amara looked away and continued walking.
She did not know why, but she felt as though she had interrupted something.
Outside, the evening traffic was already building. She stood near the roadside, waiting for a vehicle, when her phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
Unknown: Are you the lady who was assigned to digitise the Oke-Ayo records?
Amara frowned.
She read the message again.
Her first instinct was to ask who was contacting her.
Instead, she typed:
Amara: Who is this?
The message showed as delivered.
No reply came.
She waited for almost a minute before another message arrived.
Unknown: My name is Sade Yusuf.
Amara’s fingers tightened around the phone.
Yusuf.
She read the name again.
Amara: Do I know you?
The reply came almost immediately.
Sade: No. But I believe you may have seen my sister’s name.
Amara stopped looking at the road.
For a moment, the noise around her seemed distant.
Amara: Your sister?
Three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.
Sade: Mariam Yusuf.
Amara felt a chill run through her.
Before she could type another question, a final message arrived.
Sade: Please. I need to know whether her name was in that register.
Amara stared at the screen.
She had spent the entire day trying to convince herself that the documents were nothing more than old company records.
But now someone had contacted her.
Someone whose sister had been named in those records.
And suddenly, the question was no longer whether Mariam Yusuf had received her compensation.
It was why her own sister was still searching for her.
Amara looked up from her phone.
Across the road, a black car was pulling away from the office building.
She could not see who was inside.
Her phone vibrated again.
Sade: They told us to stop looking for her years ago.
Amara read the sentence slowly.
Then another message appeared.
Sade: But I know she didn’t leave voluntarily.
Comments