Chapter 8 - THE SECRET PRINCE OBINNA HAD BEEN HIDING FOR THREE YEARS
“OBIOMA, YOUR BROTHER KNOWS SOMETHING.”
I showed him the message.
His expression changed.
“Obinna?”
I nodded.
“Why would anyone send me his name?”
Obioma read the words again.
“I don't know. But we can ask him.”
Prince Obinna was thirty-two, three years older than my husband.
He was thoughtful, disciplined, and much quieter than Obioma.
He had recently returned from his honeymoon with Princess Ulinma, and the two of them were settling into the royal apartment King Uzooma had given them as a wedding present.
Until now, Obinna had remained largely absent from the land controversy.
I had assumed he simply didn't want to interfere.
The next morning, we visited him.
Ulinma welcomed us into their living room.
She looked surprised.
“Helen! Obioma! Is everything okay?”
Obioma glanced at his brother.
“We need to talk.”
Obinna set down his coffee.
“About what?”
I handed him the anonymous message.
He read it.
The color slowly drained from his face.
Ulinma noticed immediately.
“Obinna?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked toward the window.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Is there something you haven't told us?”
He remained silent.
Then he said something I wasn't prepared to hear.
“Three years ago, I helped review the accounts for the royal community development program.”
Obioma stared at him.
“You never mentioned that.”
“I didn't think it was relevant anymore.”
“Why?”
Obinna turned around.
“Because I was told the discrepancies had been resolved.”
I sat forward.
“What discrepancies?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“A private auditor found payments recorded as community assistance that couldn't be matched to actual recipients.”
My heart began pounding.
“Like the payments in my mother's ledger?”
He nodded.
“I didn't know about your mother's records. But yes, the pattern sounds similar.”
Obioma's voice tightened.
“And what did you do?”
“I raised concerns with Chief Madu and the palace financial office.”
“Then?”
“They produced revised statements. They claimed some payments had been assigned incorrect account codes.”
“Did you verify the corrections?” I asked.
Obinna looked down.
“No.”
Silence filled the room.
I had expected betrayal.
Instead, I was seeing something almost as painful.
Another powerful person who had noticed a problem but accepted an easy explanation because investigating further would have been inconvenient.
Ulinma slowly sat beside her husband.
“You told me the auditor was mistaken.”
Obinna nodded.
“That's what I believed.”
She shook her head.
“You also told me she was removed from the project because she kept asking questions.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I leaned forward.
“What was her name?”
“Miriam Okafor.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Last I heard, she was working with a financial consulting firm in Enugu.”
Obioma stood.
“We need to contact her.”
Obinna looked ashamed.
“I should have done that three years ago.”
I watched him for a moment.
“Why didn't you?”
He hesitated.
Then he answered with painful honesty.
“Because I wanted my father to trust me. I wanted the council to believe I was capable of managing responsibility. And I was afraid that admitting I couldn't explain the numbers would make me look weak.”
Obioma stared at his brother.
“People may have lost their homes because those numbers weren't checked.”
“I know.”
Obinna's voice broke.
“I know that now.”
I took a breath.
“Then help us correct it.”
He looked up.
“You still want my help?”
“Yes.”
“After what I just admitted?”
I nodded.
“Regret means nothing if you refuse to do anything with it.”
For a moment, he stared at me.
Then he stood.
“I'll find Miriam.”
That afternoon, Obinna began searching his archived emails and financial correspondence.
He discovered that several records from the old audit had been marked confidential.
One message, sent by Miriam shortly before her dismissal, contained a warning.
Certain transactions appear deliberately misclassified. I recommend suspending further land transfers until the source and recipients of these payments are independently verified.
Obinna stared at the screen.
“I remember this message.”
“What happened after she sent it?” I asked.
He swallowed.
“Chief Madu told me she was trying to create a scandal.”
I shook my head.
“She was trying to protect the money.”
Obinna nodded.
“And I believed him.”
By evening, he had found Miriam's current contact information.
He called her.
She answered after the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Miriam, this is Prince Obinna.”
There was a long silence.
Then she said, “I wondered when someone from the palace would finally call.”
He looked at us.
“We need your help.”
“About Mercy House?”
My heart nearly stopped.
“You already know?” Obinna asked.
“I've been following the news.”
“Can we meet?”
Miriam hesitated.
“Not at the palace.”
“Where would you prefer?”
“My office. And bring your attorney.”
The following morning, we traveled to Enugu with Ifeanyi.
Miriam was a woman in her late thirties, wearing a simple navy blazer and eyeglasses.
She greeted us politely, but her expression remained cautious.
“I want to make something clear,” she said before we sat down. “Three years ago, I wasn't dismissed because my audit was wrong.”
Obinna lowered his head.
“I understand.”
“I was dismissed because I refused to certify accounts I couldn't verify.”
Ifeanyi opened his notebook.
“Do you still have supporting records?”
Miriam nodded.
“I retained the correspondence and working papers I was permitted to keep under my professional obligations. I also made a formal disclosure when the project management refused to address the discrepancies.”
She opened a folder.
Inside were printed records, reference numbers, and copies of letters requesting explanations for questionable transfers.
Ifeanyi examined them.
Some accounts were connected to Aster Development Limited.
Others had received funds from the original community trust.
But one account stood out.
It had received a series of unusually large transfers over several years.
Miriam pointed to the account description.
“This is where things became particularly concerning.”
I leaned closer.
“What is it?”
“The receiving account was opened using the identity of a prominent member of the royal family.”
Obioma frowned.
“Who?”
Miriam looked at him.
Then at me.
“I'm sorry. I know this will be difficult.”
May you like
She slowly turned the document toward us.
The account was registered under the name of Queen Ihuoma.
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