Chapter 7 - THE THREAT THAT MADE MY HUSBAND QUESTION HIS OWN FAMILY
For nearly a minute, Obioma said nothing.
He simply stared at the threatening message on his phone.
I had never seen him look that way before.
Not angry.
Not frightened.
Something worse.
Disappointed.
He had grown up believing the palace was a place where people came for protection.
Now someone connected to a royal dispute was threatening his wife.
“Show Ifeanyi,” I said.
Obioma handed the phone to our attorney.
Ifeanyi read the message and immediately photographed it.
“We're making a formal report.”
Nkem stepped closer.
“Princess, perhaps you should return home.”
I looked toward the vehicle carrying my mother's records.
“And do what? Pretend none of this happened?”
“No,” Nkem replied. “But your mother would never forgive me if I let you put yourself in danger.”
Her words softened me.
I took her hand.
“I promise I'll be careful.”
Before leaving Mercy House, Ifeanyi asked the preservation officer for copies of the inspection report and the evidence inventory.
He also instructed us not to make public accusations without documentation.
“We have strong reasons to ask questions,” he said. “But we need evidence that will survive scrutiny in court.”
I understood.
Anger might persuade people for a day.
Documents could protect them for generations.
By noon, the news of our visit had spread.
Photographs of Obioma and me entering the abandoned school appeared online.
Some people praised our efforts.
Others accused me of attempting to seize community property under the guise of charity.
One particularly cruel headline read:
THE MAID WHO BECAME A PRINCESS NOW WANTS THE LAND WHERE HER PARENTS DIED.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Obioma found me sitting at the dining table.
“Don't read those things.”
I closed my phone.
“I used to think becoming a princess would make people respect me.”
He sat across from me.
“And now?”
“Now I understand that some people will always find a reason to look down on someone else.”
Obioma reached across the table.
“They don't know you.”
“Neither did the chiefs who opposed our wedding.”
He smiled sadly.
“But I did.”
I squeezed his hand.
“And that's why I married you.”
That afternoon, Ifeanyi filed an emergency application asking the district court to stop the demolitions and preserve the disputed land records.
He also challenged the questionable authorizations bearing our signatures.
The court granted a temporary fourteen-day injunction against demolition and forced eviction while the initial evidence was reviewed.
When Adaora heard the news, she called me.
Her voice shook.
“Princess Helen, does this mean they can't throw us out tomorrow?”
“For now, yes. The court has ordered the project to stop while the dispute is examined.”
She began crying.
I heard Imani asking what had happened.
Then the little girl came onto the phone.
“Princess Helen?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Thank you for saving my books.”
I pressed my lips together.
“We're still working on saving your home.”
“I know. But Mom smiled today.”
After the call, I sat quietly.
That smile mattered more to me than all the jewelry I had received for my wedding.
Later, Obioma and I returned to the main palace.
King Uzooma was waiting in his private study.
He listened as we described the threatening message, the document seizure, and the court injunction.
When Obioma finished, his father stood.
“Someone threatened my daughter-in-law?”
“Yes, Father.”
The king's jaw tightened.
“I will not tolerate intimidation.”
I looked at him.
“Then please don't treat this as an insult to the royal family. Treat it as a threat against a citizen who has the right to ask questions.”
He studied me.
Then he nodded.
“You're right.”
Queen Ihuoma entered carrying the original letter from my mother.
“I've already arranged to give my statement to Barrister Cole,” she said.
The king looked at her with surprise.
“You're making this public?”
“Yes.”
He was silent.
Then he took her hand.
“I wish you had told me about that letter years ago.”
“So do I.”
For the first time, I saw my royal parents not as powerful figures seated above everyone else, but as two people confronting the consequences of mistakes they could no longer undo.
It made them more human.
And it made the situation more painful.
The following evening, Chief Madu requested a private meeting with me.
I initially refused.
But Ifeanyi suggested meeting in a monitored palace conference room, with Obioma present.
The chief arrived wearing an expensive traditional outfit and carrying a leather folder.
“Princess Helen,” he began pleasantly, “I believe this misunderstanding has gone too far.”
I didn't smile.
“Twenty-four families are facing the loss of their homes. I don't consider that a misunderstanding.”
He folded his hands.
“Progress requires difficult decisions.”
“Whose progress?”
“Everyone's, eventually.”
I looked directly at him.
“That's an easy promise to make when someone else pays the price.”
His expression hardened.
Then he opened the folder.
Inside was a proposal appointing me as the public chairperson of a new royal community foundation.
It included a generous annual allowance, a staff budget, and control over several charitable programs.
I read the first page.
Then I looked up.
“What is this?”
“An opportunity,” he replied.
“For what?”
“To help the people you care about without damaging the palace's reputation.”
Obioma leaned forward.
“And what would Helen have to do?”
Chief Madu smiled.
“Withdraw her objections to the development and announce that the families will receive assistance through the new foundation.”
I stared at him.
“You want me to endorse a project before anyone has proved the families were compensated?”
“I want you to think about your future.”
“My future?”
His smile faded.
“You are a new member of the royal family. Public opposition to the council can make life extremely difficult.”
Obioma's voice became firm.
“Be careful, Chief.”
The old man raised his hands.
“I mean no disrespect.”
I closed the folder and pushed it back.
“I don't want your position. I don't want your allowance. And I won't trade those families' homes for a beautiful title.”
For several seconds, Chief Madu looked at me without speaking.
Then he stood.
“You're making a mistake, Princess.”
I answered quietly.
“Maybe. But at least it will be my decision.”
That night, as we drove home, I noticed Obioma checking the rearview mirror repeatedly.
“Is something wrong?”
“A gray car has been behind us since we left the palace.”
I looked back.
The vehicle remained several hundred feet away.
At the next intersection, Obioma changed routes.
The car continued straight.
Neither of us spoke until we reached the mansion.
Then he turned toward me.
“Helen, promise me something.”
“What?”
“Whatever happens next, don't investigate alone.”
I nodded.
“I promise.”
Inside, my phone displayed a new message from an unfamiliar number.
There was no threat this time.
Only one sentence.
ASK PRINCE OBINNA WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FIRST AUDIT.
I read it twice.
The first audit?
May you like
What audit?
And why would my husband's older brother know anything about it?
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