Adaeze slammed the bag on the counter. Inside was a shattered Nokia X2-00—the music phone with the dedicated keys. “This phone belongs to my rival, Temi ‘T-Spark.’ I paid her assistant to steal it. There’s a video on it. A video of her before the fame. No makeup, in a village kitchen, burning jollof rice and crying because she lost a rap battle. If I leak it, her endorsement deal with the beverage company collapses. Mine goes up.”
“You want me to betray a customer’s privacy?” 9jabet old mobile shop
“I want you to make me rich,” she corrected, sliding a thick envelope across the counter. “Fifty thousand dollars.” Adaeze slammed the bag on the counter
Papa Tunde smiled. It was a slow, crocodile smile. “I will do something better.” There’s a video on it
“Now, you will walk out of this shop. You will never speak of this phone or this video. And you will tell your influencer friends that 9jabet Old Mobile Shop is not a place for games. It is a museum of your past. And in this museum… I am the curator of truth.”
“Old man,” she said, fanning herself. “My manager says you’re the only one who can help. I need a photo.”