My husband’s family spent the whole reunion insulting me — they laughed at my clothes, mocked my business, called me a burden, and said I’d never amount to anything without him. Then my jet landed…

And exactly the kind of corporate maneuvering I should have anticipated. Options? Ria didn’t hesitate. Three paths.

Legal challenge based on the anti-competitive conditions from last year’s agreement. Accelerate our direct to consumer marketing to offset the loss. Or approach GoldenTree’s competitors with an exclusive offer they can’t refuse.

All. Of the above, I decided. And set up a call with William Thompson.

I want to know if he had any inkling of this. When I rejoined Marcus, his expression told me he’d already gleaned the situation from my side of the conversation. How bad? He asked.

Bad enough to be annoying, not bad enough to be fatal. I gazed out at the campus taking shape before us. But it could delay projects like this one.

He squeezed my shoulder. We’ll figure it out. We always do.

The rest of… The day passed in a blur of construction reviews and meetings with local officials. By evening, I was exhausted but not ready to return to our hotel. Instead, I asked our driver to take us to the market district.

The old market? He confirmed. It will be closing soon. Just for a few minutes, I said.

The market was winding. Down for the day. Vendors packing away unsold goods.

The usual cacophony softened to a gentle hum of conversation and distant music. I made my way to the eastern entrance, where a mighty palm tree still stood guard. Fumney wasn’t at her stall.

She worked shorter hours now that she consulted for our campus. But I didn’t need her guidance anymore. I knew exactly where I was.

Going. The Amara Okoye Memorial Business Center glowed with warm light. Women gathered around computers, some with children playing nearby.

I paused in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt. A young woman looked up from her screen. Recognition.

Dawning on her face. Ms. Okoye! Heads turned. Conversations paused.

I felt suddenly self-conscious in my dusty construction clothes and tangled hair. Please don’t let me interrupt, I said. I just wanted to see the center in action.

But they were already rising. Welcoming me inside. Eager to show me what they were working on.

Business plans. Website designs. Inventory systems.

Their enthusiasm was palpable. Their determination familiar. One woman, perhaps 40, approached with quiet dignity.

My daughter attends university in America because of your scholarship program, she said. First in our family. What is she studying? I asked.

Computer science. Like you. Pride radiated from her.

She says one day she will work for your company. Tell. Her to call me when she graduates, I replied.

We’re always looking for talent. As I moved through the center, listening to these women’s stories, Christopher Preston and his corporate machinations seemed increasingly distant. Almost laughably.

Small compared to what was happening here. My phone buzzed. William Thompson returning my call.

I stepped outside to answer. Aisha. He greeted me, his voice tense.

I just heard about Christopher’s golden tree maneuver. I had no knowledge of it. I believe you, I said, realizing I actually did.

The past year had seen a gradual thawing between us. Professional respect evolving into something approaching genuine regard. It’s a direct violation of the spirit of last year’s agreement.

He continued. I’ve already called for an emergency shareholder meeting. Thank you, but we’re handling it.

I have no doubt, he replied. But the Thompson Fund is invested in your success now, and I protect my investments. I smiled despite myself.

William would never be warm or demonstrative, but in his own way, he’d become an ally, not out of familial obligation to Marcus, but out of genuine belief in what we were building. How’s Lagos? He asked. His tone softening slightly.

Transformative, I answered honestly. The campus is ahead of schedule. You should visit when it opens.

A pause, then. I’d like that. After we hung up, I rejoined Marcus, who was chatting with a group of children fascinated by his tablet.

Everything OK? He asked as we walked. Back to our car. Better than OK, I said.

I needed this reminder today. Reminder of what? I gestured toward the business center, now receding behind us. Of why we’re really doing this.

It’s not about Preston or market share or valuation. It’s about them. That night in our hotel, we strategized over room service.

By morning, Rhea had implemented our three-pronged response to Preston’s move. Legal challenge filed, marketing campaign accelerated, and meetings scheduled with GoldenTree’s three largest competitors. Beaumont Bank is particularly interested.

She reported. Their CEO called personally. Apparently, he and Christopher Preston have history.

Everyone has history with Christopher, I noted. Usually unpleasant. Two days later, we were back in New York, the Lagos dust still clinging to my luggage as I headed straight to our office for an emergency leadership meeting.

The team had rallied magnificently, working around the clock to counter Preston’s attack. Beaumont. Bank is offering a five-year exclusive contract, our partnerships director announced…