He, now living poorly in a shared apartment on the outskirts, thought the worst had passed. He thought that after losing everything to Zelica, he was free.
One afternoon, while eating instant noodles, there was a knock on the door.
“Police. Mr. Quacy, you are under arrest.”
“What is this now? My debt to Zelica is paid.”
“This isn’t about debts,” the officer said. “This is about the use of substandard materials on the bridge project in Monroe and tax fraud.”
He froze.
How did they know?
He didn’t know that Seek, on behalf of a client concerned about public safety, had anonymously sent copies of his double ledger and the lab results of the poor-quality cement to the district attorney and the IRS.
“He built a bridge that could collapse,” Seek had said when he showed the reports to Zelica.
“This is no longer about him and me,” she’d replied. “It’s about justice.”
The news of his arrest was a local headline:
ELITE DEVELOPER FALLS – ALLEGED CORRUPTION AND FRAUD.
In her mansion, Zelica watched the news on the large TV. She looked at his face—gaunt and angry—being escorted away. She felt nothing. Neither anger nor satisfaction.
That chapter was finally closed.
She turned off the TV.
One year later, Okafor Legacy Holdings LLC was no longer a dormant and mysterious company. The company was now one of the new economic pillars in the South.
Zelica had revolutionized her pecan groves with sustainable practices, raising wages for workers and building modern facilities. The Okafor training center had already opened, and the first class had graduated. The first phase of subsidized housing was full.
She was no longer called “Madame Director” with a tone of fear. The old workers called her “Ms. Zelica” or “Tendai’s daughter” with respect and affection.
She was standing on a hill on her farm, looking at the green expanse under the afternoon sun. She was no longer the disheveled woman in the lobby of the Sovereign, nor the cold woman in the meeting room. She was Zelica—complete.
Footsteps were heard behind her.
“Zelica, the view is beautiful,” Seek said.
He was no longer wearing a formal suit, just a casual linen shirt. Now he spent more time in the country than in Atlanta.
“Yes,” she said, smiling. A sincere smile. “My father called this an anchor. Turns out this anchor can be used to build many things.”
