CHAPTER ONE
EVERY ONE LIED ABOUT HER DEATH
11:47 p.m. — Banana Island, Lagos.
The first time I saw my own photograph on a funeral banner, I was standing across the road, watching strangers mourn me.
My picture was everywhere.
On the massive banner outside our family mansion. On the television screens inside the house. On the printed programmes being distributed to guests dressed in expensive black outfits.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF MISS NINA ADEBAYO.
Beloved daughter. Sister. Friend.
Died tragically at twenty-two.
Except I wasn't dead.
I was standing barefoot in the rain, wearing a borrowed hoodie, with a bleeding cut on my forehead and absolutely no idea how I'd gotten there.
Three hours earlier, I had been celebrating my twenty-second birthday.
Now, apparently, I was attending my own funeral.
My phone vibrated.
One new message.
Unknown number.
Don't go inside that house, Nina.
I stared at it.
Another message arrived.
They are not mourning you. They are celebrating.
My stomach tightened.
I looked across the road at the mansion.
My father's security guards stood at the entrance. Black SUVs lined the driveway. Guests were arriving in expensive cars, holding umbrellas as they made their way inside.
Then I saw him.
My elder brother, Daniel.
He stood at the entrance, welcoming guests with a glass of champagne in his hand.
Champagne.
At my funeral.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run across the road, grab him by his expensive designer suit and demand an explanation.
But something stopped me.
Daniel looked up.
For a brief moment, our eyes met.
I froze.
He didn't look surprised.
He didn't look frightened.
He simply raised his champagne glass towards me.
And smiled.
My phone vibrated again.
Now you understand why you mustn't go inside.
I swallowed.
Who was sending these messages?
And how did they know I was alive?
I typed with trembling fingers.
ME: Who are you?
The reply came almost immediately.
UNKNOWN: Someone who watched them bury your mother.
My blood ran cold.
My mother had died when I was seven.
At least, that's what my father had told me.
1. The family gathering
I found shelter beneath the roof of a closed pharmacy about two streets away.
My head was pounding.
I tried calling my best friend, Teni.
Straight to voicemail.
I called again.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the last thing I could clearly recall.
My birthday dinner.
My father had insisted on hosting it at home. He had invited a few business associates, family friends and relatives I barely knew.
Everything had been perfect.
Until 9:15 p.m.
I remembered standing in the hallway when I overheard my father arguing with someone.
"You promised me this would never happen again," he had said.
A woman's voice answered.
THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
"You should have thought about that before you killed her."
Then silence.
I remembered walking towards the voices.
I remembered a glass falling.
And then...
Nothing.
I touched the cut on my forehead.
Someone had hit me.
Hard.
I opened my phone and checked my photographs.
The last picture was a selfie taken at 8:52 p.m.
I was smiling beside my father.
He had his arm around my shoulder.
I zoomed in.
Something was strange.
Behind us, reflected in the glass cabinet, was a woman.
A woman wearing my mother's favourite necklace.
I dropped the phone.
Because my mother had been buried fifteen years ago.
And the woman in that reflection looked exactly like her.
2. The call
At 12:06 a.m., my phone rang.
Teni.
I answered immediately.
"Teni! Where are you? What is happening? They're saying I'm dead!"
There was silence.
Then I heard her crying.
"Nina?"
"Yes! Who else?"
"Oh my God."
"Teni, please. I need you to explain what's happening."
She took a shaky breath.
"Listen to me carefully. Where are you?"
"Near the house."
"Don't move."
"Why?"
"Because Daniel is looking for you."
I closed my eyes.
"Well, tell him I'm alive. Better still, tell him to come and explain why he's drinking champagne at my funeral."
Teni started crying harder.
"Nina..."
"What?"
"Your father is dead."
I stopped breathing.
"What did you just say?"
"Your father is dead."
"No. That's impossible. I saw him three hours ago."
"His body was found in his study."
I stared at the road ahead.
Cars passed.
Rain fell.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
"Who killed him?" I whispered.
Teni didn't answer.
"Teni?"
"I don't know."
"Then why are you crying?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because the police found your fingerprints on the murder weapon."
The call disconnected.
I stood completely still.
My father was dead.
I was supposedly dead.
And the police thought I had murdered him.
Then another message appeared.
This time, it wasn't from the unknown number.
It was from my father.
SCHEDULED MESSAGE · RECEIVED 12:09 A.M.
Nina, if you're reading this, then something has happened to me.
There are things I should have told you years ago.
Your mother did not abandon you.
Your brother is not your brother.
And whatever happens, do not trust the person who claims to have saved you.
I'm sorry, my daughter.
I should have told you before it was too late.
I read the message three times.
Your brother is not your brother.
Daniel?
No.
That was ridiculous.
We had grown up together. We shared childhood photographs, birthdays, family holidays and memories.
He was my brother.
He had to be.
Then headlights appeared at the end of the street.
A black Mercedes-Benz.
It slowed down.
Stopped directly in front of me.
The passenger window rolled down.
A man looked at me.
He was wearing a black suit, and there was blood on his white shirt.
I recognised him immediately.
It was my father's personal driver, Mr Okafor.
He unlocked the door.
"Madam Nina," he said urgently.
I stepped backwards.
"How do you know I'm here?"
He glanced behind him.
"Because I was the one who carried you out of that house."
My heart started racing.
"What?"
He leaned closer.
"Get inside. We don't have much time."
I hesitated.
My father's message echoed in my head.
Do not trust the person who claims to have saved you.
I looked at Mr Okafor.
Then at the car.
"Before I enter," I said, "answer one question."
He nodded.
"Who killed my father?"
His expression changed.
For the first time, I noticed his hands were shaking.
He looked at me through the open window.
Then he said something that made my entire body go cold.
"Your father wasn't the person I was hired to kill tonight."
I couldn't speak.
He opened his mouth to say something else.
But before he could...
A gunshot shattered the night.
His head fell against the steering wheel.
The car horn began blaring.
And from the darkness behind me, a familiar voice whispered:
"Hello, little sister."
I turned.
Daniel was standing in the rain.
Holding a gun.
"We need to talk about what really happened to our mother."
End of Chapter One.