The rain was coming down hard, turning the alleyway into a river of oil and trash. It drummed against the roof of the van like a thousand tiny fingers tapping out a warning.I sat in the passenger seat of Adekunle’s beat-up Toyota, my laptop glowing blue against my tired, grey face."Pull up the file again," I said, my voice barely a rasp.Adekunle hit a key, and the video played on his center console. It was grainy, shot from a weird, high angle, like a hidden camera in a hotel room vent.On the screen, Mr. Chen—the Grand Company regional director—was sitting on the edge of a bed. He was laughing, his head thrown back. He was holding a briefcase open, showing stacks of American dollars to a woman who looked barely eighteen.Then, he leaned in and snorted a thick line of white powder off the glass table.It looked real. It looked perfectly, damningly real."This is it," Adekunle said, wiping steam off the windshield with his sleeve. "This is the leverage Julian Blackwood has on him.

"Do not slouch," Sarah hissed, digging her nails into my arm.We were walking the red carpet. Flashes popped like lightning storms all around us. "Woman of the Year" was plastered on a massive banner above the entrance to the Grand Hotel.I was wearing a tuxedo that was two sizes too big. Sarah had thrown out my fitted suits and bought this one off the rack. She said it was "all she could find last minute," but I knew she wanted me to look ill-fitting and shrunken.I looked like a child wearing his father's clothes. My face was pale, my eyes sunken. I hadn't shaved in three days because she hid my razors "for my safety.""Smile, Victor," she whispered through her teeth. "Look at the camera. Look pathetic."I gave a weak, lopsided smile. The photographers went crazy."Victor! Victor! Over here! How are you feeling?""Is it true you are on new medication?""Sarah! How do you manage the company and a sick husband?"Sarah stepped in front of me, shielding me like a protective angel."Plea