AKOSUA’S P.O.V:
The Haven, Accra
Monday Morning.
Tega arrived at eight fifty-three.
Akosua knew because she checked the time when the security guard called from the gate.
“Madam Akosua,” Kwame said through the intercom, “the people from Ark Advisory are here.”
“Names?”
There was a brief pause.
“Mr OgheneTega Edewor and Ms Adedara Akinwale.”
Seven minutes early. She disliked that she noticed. Akosua looked through the glass wall of her office toward the courtyard.
Rain had fallen before dawn, leaving the paving stones dark and the leaves of the hibiscus plants bright with water. The compound was already awake.
A delivery van stood near the kitchen entrance. Two children in school uniforms waited beneath the veranda while one of the caregivers searched for a missing lunch bag.
A resident crossed the courtyard carrying a laundry basket against her hip. From the training room came the low murmur of women beginning the morning’s skills session.
Ordinary life. Or The Haven’s closest approximation of it.
“Let them in,” Akosua said.
She ended the call and returned her attention to the folder open on her desk. The intake summary for Abena and Efua lay on top. No identifying photographs. No full names beyond what the legal team required. No details of the allegations the girls had not yet made.
There were still too many empty fields.
Akosua preferred empty fields to guessed answers.
Ama sat across from her, scanning a staffing schedule.
“You have read that page four times,” she said.
“I have not.”
“You have.”
Akosua did not look up.
“The legal officer still has not confirmed whether the aunt can act as temporary guardian.”
“She is waiting for the district office.”
“They were supposed to respond on Friday.”
“It is Monday morning.”
“Exactly.” Ama said as she lowered the schedule, “They opened thirty-seven minutes ago.”
“Then they have had thirty-seven minutes.”
“Sometimes I forget you are a real person.” Ama said
“That sounds like a personal problem.” Akosua replied
Ama smiled faintly.
Akosua turned the page.
“The girls should not remain in the counselling room beyond Wednesday.”
“I know.” Ama said with a roll of her eyes.
“Has the carpenter measured the training-store partition?”
“He is coming this afternoon.”
“And the second emergency mattress?”
“Delivered.”
“The mosquito nets?”
“Also delivered.”
“The night roster?”
“Adjusted.”
“The counsellor?”
“Will see Abena at eleven. Efua has not agreed.”
“She does not have to.”
“I know.”
A knock sounded against the open door.
Adjoa stood there.
“Sorry, Akosua.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to ask whether we should move the digital-literacy class to Thursday because the laptops are still—”
“Speak to Mansa.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She said to ask you.”
Akosua’s mouth tightened.
“What did she recommend?”
“That we move it.”
“Then move it.”
Adjoa nodded and turned to leave.
“Wait.”
She stopped.
“Next time, if the programme lead has made a reasonable decision within her area, you do not need my approval.”
Adjoa looked uncertain.
“Okay.”
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you look worried?”
Adjoa glanced at Ama.
Ama returned her attention to the schedule.
“It is just that last time we moved a training date, the partner complained.”
“Did the partner withdraw?”
“No.”
“Did the programme fail?”
“No.”
“Then make the decision and document why.”
“All right.”
Adjoa left.
Akosua looked back at the intake summary. Ama said nothing. That was worse than commentary.
“What?”
“I did not say anything.”
“You are thinking loudly.”
Ama’s brows lifted. “That is his line.”
Akosua looked up. “Whose?”
Ama’s expression became carefully innocent. “The consultant.”
“You have heard him say it once.”
“And remembered.”
Akosua closed the folder. A vehicle rolled into the compound. She could hear the tyres move slowly across the wet paving stones.
Ama stood.
“They are here.”
“I am aware.”
“You should come out.”
“They know where the office is.”
“They are guests.”
“They are consultants.”
“Those categories can overlap.”
Akosua remained seated for another second. Then stood. She had chosen a cream blouse and dark-green trousers that morning. Structured, practical, neither overly formal nor welcoming.
Not that clothing could be welcoming.
She stepped out of the office. Tega and Dara had already left the vehicle. Dara stood beside the passenger door in a slate-grey dress, a leather tote over one shoulder. Tega was speaking to the doorman.
He wore a pale-blue shirt with the sleeves buttoned at his wrists, charcoal trousers and no jacket. His leather folder was under one arm.
He had also left his phone in his hand.
Akosua noticed that first.
Then he turned. His gaze found her immediately. The warmth from the conference returned to his face. Not as openly this time. They had work between them now.
But it was there.
“Good morning,” he said.
“You are early.”
“I am improving.”
“You are seven minutes early.”
“I assumed that would earn at least provisional approval.”
“It demonstrates capacity.”
Dara smiled.
“Good morning, Akosua.”
“Good morning.”
Ama joined them.
Introductions were brief.
Professional.
Ama and Dara had exchanged emails over the weekend and immediately began discussing the document schedule.
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