I Inherited Trillions, Now What?-Chapter 195: Call

"Alhaji…" came the voice over the phone, warm and familiar, though laced with just enough deference to recognize who truly held the power in the conversation.

Folarin raised a brow and smiled as he heard the voice. "Dapo," he said, calling the Minister by his first name like a man greeting an old schoolmate — casually, almost playfully, but always from the upper rung of the ladder.

"How are you? How is the family?" Alhaji asked, strolling deeper into his garden, his slippers brushing lightly over the smooth path lined with trimmed hedges and pots of hibiscus flowers in full bloom. He paused before one, admiring the crimson petals under the soft Lagos sun.

Dapo, Minister of Housing, chuckled lightly on the other end. "We thank God about the family. Priscilla has just finished schooling, so I was wondering…"

Alhaji didn't let him finish. "Ah-ah, Priscilla is done with school?" he said, voice full of exaggerated surprise.

"Yes, she graduated last month. She's about to start her NYSC," Dapo explained with a father's pride. Alhaji listened, nodding slowly, the cigar back between his fingers, its thick smoke curling like a python in the warm air.

"Hmm… hmm…" he murmured, pretending to listen with deep interest, while in his head he already knew where this was going.

'I haven't even told you why I called you, and you're already lining up a handout,' he thought, cutting off a small stem from the hibiscus, inspecting it like a man who had more time than everyone else.

"Ah, what course did she study?" he asked aloud, indulging the inevitable.

"Accounting!" Dapo said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "First class and all!" he added, selling his daughter like a prized goat at a private auction.

Folarin smiled — a quiet, knowing smile. He let the silence hang for a second, then said calmly, "Well, for Priscilla, let's see what we can do. We should be able to place her in one of the bank branches. It won't be a problem."

Dapo let out a burst of laughter. "Nooo, you don't need to, Alhaji!"

Alhaji rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, it's nothing," he replied smoothly. "We normally take corpers. She can come see me at home tomorrow. I'll assign one of my boys to handle her papers. Priscilla is like a daughter to me too. Let me help her."

Dapo laughed again, even louder now, relieved and satisfied. "Okay now, Alhaji! First thing tomorrow, I'll send her to your house!"

Alhaji laughed along, a deep, rich chuckle that sounded like it belonged in a private cigar lounge or over a hundred-year-old bottle of cognac.

But then Dapo said, "Ah, look at me — I almost forgot what even made me call."

He cleared his throat. "My assistant mentioned that you had called earlier. Sorry for missing it — the president came into town unexpectedly. We were all summoned to welcome him, so we've been, well... indisposed."

Alhaji paused mid-puff, genuinely intrigued. "Wale is in town?" he said, his tone sharp with surprise. His thoughts drifted immediately to the possibilities — deals, negotiations, favours, and influence.

"Yes, he arrived yesterday. Didn't inform anyone beforehand. The whole villa has been on its toes," Dapo said.

Alhaji Folarin stood still in his garden, the cigar burning lazily between his fingers as a thousand silent calculations began to move in his mind — slow, deliberate, dangerous.

Folarin, hearing that, chuckled and said, "Ah-ah, don't worry about that. It's fine. It's the President — I understand."He laughed, brushing off the apology like a man who didn't need explanations from anyone.

Dapo smiled over the line. "Good. It's good you understand," he said, then added with a teasing laugh, "So, my friend, what did you call for? Because I know you — is there a new place you want to get, or what?"He laughed again, remembering the many times Alhaji had called him at odd hours, whispering about beachfront property or luxury duplexes in Banana Island like they were casual grocery runs.

But Folarin laughed lightly. "No, no. It's not that."

"Oooh," Dapo said, his curiosity piqued. "So, what is it?"

"You know my junior sister, right?"

"Ah, oo yes… yes, I think I remember her," Dapo replied, leaning into the call.

"Yes, this is about her son. My nephew."

"That young man… wait, is it David, or what?"

"No," Folarin said with a small shake of his head, as though Dapo were seated right across from him. "His name is Daniel."

"Ah yes! Daniel! That's right. Yes, yes."Then, almost immediately, Dapo's tone shifted, voice growing concerned. "Is everything okay? What's wrong?"

Folarin sighed, long and heavy. "No, no. He's fine… but that boy…"He looked out across the garden again, irritation tightening his features. "Daniel bought a new house recently."

"Okay…" Dapo said, drawn in, waiting for the rest.

"In Lekki. But he seems to have run into one of these Lagos local scammers."His voice was edged now, low and dangerous.

"Ahh," Dapo muttered, instantly understanding.As the Minister of Housing in Lagos State, this wasn't news to him. Every week, his office received up to three formal reports about fraudulent land agents, false title documents, or entire estates built on illegally acquired property.And that was just the paper trail.He had a special unit dedicated to real estate fraud, but the flood hadn't slowed. For every scam they uncovered, two more emerged.And now, it seemed Daniel, Alhaji Folarin's only nephew, had been caught in the mess.

Folarin continued, clearly irritated. "That boy sef, I didn't even know when he bought a house. Now he's received—what? An eviction notice already! Saying he should vacate the property immediately."He shook his head again, now visibly upset."That's why I called you. If my sister hears about this…"He didn't finish the sentence — he didn't have to."You know Daniel is the only boy in our entire family. We have to protect him. So… about this — how can you help us?"

There was a brief pause on the other end.

Dapo understood everything unsaid. The whole of Lagos society — no, Nigeria — knew that Alhaji Folarin was a man greatly blessed… and even more fertile.More than nine daughters, spread across six wives, a proud legacy. But fate — and irony — had never granted him a son.So Daniel, his sister's boy, had become his only heir in every way that mattered. Alhaji had even ensured that the boy bore his own surname, not the father's.

This wasn't just about a house. This was family, legacy, pride.

Dapo smiled, fully understanding the weight of what was being asked.And with a warm voice, calm and confident, he said—

"Ah-ah! You don't trust me, Alhaji?" Dapo said, laughing, his voice rich with pride."Don't worry — this one is simple. Is it not just a single land? Ah, this is small matter. Just tell him to send me the papers — the receipt, agreement, anything he has. Once I see those, na straight to the state land registry. By the time I'm done, he'll be the legal owner. Case closed."

Dapo leaned back in his chair, a smug smile creeping across his face. This was the kind of favor that didn't take effort — just influence. The real owner? Well, that was between him and God.He chuckled to himself. Solving this would earn him more than political points. If things went well, his daughter's career at Folarin's bank could be sealed with a handshake.

On the other end of the line, Folarin smiled knowingly. "I knew I could count on you, Minister! Minister!"Dapo laughed modestly. "It's a simple thing. Consider it done."

Folarin didn't skip a beat. "No problem. And your daughter's position — consider that done too."Both men chuckled, satisfied by the transaction of favors, the language of Lagos power brokers.

They drifted into casual chatter — about the President's last visit, whispers of a cabinet reshuffle, upcoming deals, and the usual political gossip. Eventually, the call began to wind down.

"Okay now," Folarin said, a hint of pleasure in his voice. "Tomorrow, just send Priscilla over. I'll make sure to… handle her well."He smiled as he ended the call.

The moment the line cut, Folarin's smile twisted."Corrupt fool," he muttered to himself, laughing darkly.He licked his lips subtly, eyes glazing over with something sinister."And your daughter?" he whispered with a voice almost indecent. "Don't worry. I'll… handle her well."

He tossed the hibiscus flower he'd been twirling since the beginning of the call.His mind drifted — remembering the last time he saw Priscilla. Four years ago. She was just entering university then. Plump, sharp, and already turning heads."Chai, she must have filled out by now," he murmured, grinning lecherously.

He turned, hands clasped behind him, and strolled back into the house — whistling faintly as the iron door shut behind him.

Meanwhile…

While the heavy hitters of Nigeria had already begun digging into the Lekki land scandal — some genuinely seeking answers, others with agendas of their own — a few had their minds elsewhere. Alhaji Folarin, for one, wasn't thinking about justice; he was thinking about how to silence the noise before it reached the wrong ears. But the noise had already begun.

Alexander's quiet observation plan was about to shift into something far more aggressive.

Because the case — once confined to whispered calls and hushed meetings — had just exploded onto the internet. And the one who lit the match?

None other than Afrobeat megastar Burna Boy, who at that very moment, was going live online, streaming to millions.