Shadows of the Law

Chapter 2 – Years Later

Fifteen years later, the rain still had a way of pulling her backward.

Whenever the clouds gathered, dark and heavy, and the wind began to push the city into a restless sway, Adanna Cole would feel that old, cold ache rise in her chest — the one she carried like a second heartbeat.

But today, Lagos was drenched in sunlight. Heat shimmered on the tarmac outside the courthouse, and the air was heavy with the scent of petrol and roasted groundnuts from the vendors down the street. The noise of the city was everywhere — honking cars, hawkers shouting prices, the distant thrum of a generator somewhere — but to Adanna, it was a kind of music she’d learned to work inside.

She adjusted the strap of her leather satchel and climbed the steps of the Lagos State High Court.

Inside, the air was cooler, the high ceilings echoing every footstep. Lawyers in black robes and white bibs hurried through the corridor, clutching stacks of files. Adanna’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she passed them, her pace unhurried but purposeful. She knew eyes followed her. They always did.

It wasn’t just because she was striking — tall, with warm bronze skin, an oval face framed by coiled black hair pinned neatly at the back, and eyes that held people a fraction longer than they were used to. It was because she was Adanna Cole, the prosecutor who had taken down politicians, drug traffickers, and white-collar thieves who thought they were untouchable.

Some called her relentless. Some say she's dangerous. She took both as compliments.

As she turned into the wing of offices for the state prosecutors, she greeted a few colleagues with polite nods. Her mind was already on the files waiting on her desk when a voice called from behind:

“Cole. In my office. Now.”

It was Chief Prosecutor Nathan Okoro.

She stepped inside his office — a space cluttered with towering stacks of case files, law journals, and a single overworked ceiling fan that whirred noisily overhead.

Okoro didn’t bother with pleasantries. He was a man in his late fifties with a barrel chest, a neatly trimmed gray beard, and the permanent expression of someone whose coffee had been stolen one too many times.

He gestured to a chair. “Sit.”

On the desk in front of him was a thick manila file, its edges worn from handling. A corner of a crime scene photograph peeked out.

Adanna sat, resting her satchel beside her. “What’s the case?”

“High stakes,” Okoro said. “Drug syndicate. Human trafficking. Money laundering. The works. We’ve been after this network for years, and now…” He tapped the file. “We might finally have our way in.”

He slid the file toward her.

Adanna opened it and scanned the first page. The name at the top stopped her.

Ethan Cross.

The photograph clipped to the file showed a man in his early thirties. Sharp suit. Clean-cut, but with that easy kind of charm that made you want to trust him before you even knew his name. His hair was dark and slightly wavy, his jawline precise, his mouth curved into a confident half-smile.

“He’s the central figure,” Okoro said. “On paper, he’s a legitimate businessman — owns a chain of shipping companies, a few high-end bars, and invests in real estate. However, our intelligence indicates that his enterprises are merely facades.. He’s the one laundering the syndicate’s money, maybe even moving the product.”

“Then why hasn’t he been charged before?” Adanna asked, flipping through the documents.

“Because no one can make anything stick.” Okoro leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Every time we get close, witnesses disappear, evidence evaporates, or the case collapses under ‘technical issues.’ He’s slippery. Charming. Dangerous.”

Adanna’s eyes lingered on the photo. “And you want me to take him down.”

“I want you to bury him so deep he never sees sunlight again,” Okoro said flatly.

She closed the file, a slow smile touching her lips. “Then I’ll need everything we have on him. Every name, every bank transfer, every whisper of a connection.”

“You’ll have it.” Okoro’s gaze sharpened. “But I’m warning you, Cole — don’t underestimate him. Men like Cross… they know how to get under your skin. They know how to turn a courtroom into a stage. Don’t get distracted.”

Adanna tilted her head slightly. “You think I can be distracted?”

Okoro’s mouth twitched. “I think you’re human. And he’s made a career out of finding people’s weak spots.”

She picked up the file and stood. “Then I’ll just have to make sure I’m the exception.”

As she left his office, the weight of the file felt heavier than it was on paper. She’d handled dangerous men before, but there was something about this one — something in the curve of that smile, in the clean confidence of his photograph that prickled at the back of her neck.

She spent the rest of the morning combing through the file at her desk. Ethan Cross was meticulous. His businesses were registered under a web of shell companies. His personal life was frustratingly private. No spouse. No children. A handful of friends, all with spotless public records.

Still, there were cracks. A transaction slightly below the reporting threshold.. A warehouse in Apapa is linked to a shipment flagged by Interpol. A formal employee who disappeared just two days before testifying in a different case.

And then there was something else — a grainy surveillance image taken outside a luxury bar in Victoria Island two months ago. Ethan was there, leaning against the open door of a sleek black car.

Adanna’s stomach gave a faint twist. She didn’t know why, but something about that car…

She forced herself to look away, focusing instead on the task ahead. This wasn’t about impressions or instincts. This was about building a case so airtight it could survive the storm Ethan Cross was sure to unleash.

By the time she closed the file, the sun was slanting through the blinds, painting stripes of light across her desk. She gathered her things and left for the day, but the name stayed with her.

Ethan Cross.

She didn’t know yet that before the week was over, she’d hear a sound she hadn’t heard in fifteen years.

And that sound would unravel everything she thought she knew about justice, loyalty, and love.