THE MAN BEHIND THE NAME
The first week passed more quickly than
Chisimdi expected.
By Friday, the nervousness she had carried into the building on her first morning had almost disappeared.
She had learned which printer refused to cooperate before noon, which cafeteria attendant was generous with portions, and which members of the administrative team preferred emails to phone calls.
She had also learned something about Damian Adetola.
He wasn’t a man who called unnecessarily.
When he needed something, he expected it to be done properly.
When someone did their work well, he rarely made a big deal about it.
His approval came in smaller ways, a brief nod, a document returned without corrections, or the occasional quiet, “Good work.”
Chisimdi had begun noticing those things.
She told herself it was because she wanted
to understand her boss and do her job well.
There was no other reason she had started
recognizing his footsteps whenever he
walked past the administrative department.
By Friday afternoon, most of the department had already begun thinking about the
weekend.
Conversations had become
louder, chairs were being pushed back, and people were making plans before the official closing time.
Chisimdi was still at her desk, going through a stack of invoices.
Amaka stopped beside her and glanced at
the papers.
“You’re still here?”
Chisimdi looked up.
“I’m almost done.”
Amaka checked the time on her phone and
raised an eyebrow.
“It’s almost six.”
“I know.”
“You’re not planning to become the
company’s unpaid employee, are you?”
Chisimdi laughed as she arranged the
invoices into a neat pile.
“No.
I just don’t like
leaving things unfinished.”
“You’ll learn,” Amaka said, shaking her
head.
“Sometimes the work will still be there on Monday.”
“That is supposed to make me feel better?”
“It should.
You’re allowed to go home.”
Chisimdi smiled and closed the folder.
“I’ll
remember that.”
She had just started putting the documents
into her handbag when the telephone on her desk rang.
She glanced at the screen.
The executive
line.
Her hand paused briefly before she picked
it up.
“Good evening.”
“Mr.
Adetola would like you to bring the
invoice report to his office.”
Chisimdi looked at the folder she had just
packed.
Of course.
“Alright.
I’ll bring it up.”
She ended the call, pulled the folder back
out and stood.
The executive floor was much quieter than the rest of the building.
By the time she reached Damian’s office, most of the day’s noise had disappeared.
The fading sunlight came
through the large windows, casting a soft
golden glow across the hallway.
She knocked.
“Come in.”
Chisimdi opened the door.
Damian stood near the window, his jacket resting over one arm.
His tie was slightly loosened, and the relaxed appearance was different from the composed CEO she had met during her interview.
She stepped inside and held up the folder.
“You asked for the invoice report.”
“I did.”
She walked over and placed it on his desk.
“I checked the figures twice.”
Damian glanced at the folder before looking back at her.
“I expected you to.”
A small smile appeared on her face.
“You’ve become very confident in me for someone
who has known me for only a week.”
He rested one hand against the edge of the desk.
“Some people prove themselves quickly.”
The answer caught her off guard.
She looked down at the folder and
straightened it even though it was already
perfectly aligned.
“I hope that’s a good
thing.”
“It is.”
His answer was quiet, but something about
it made her look up again.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Chisimdi suddenly became aware of how
quiet the office was.
She adjusted the strap of her handbag on
her shoulder.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll head
home.”
Damian nodded.
She turned toward the door.
Then he noticed the edge of something
sticking out from the outer pocket of her
handbag.
A photograph.
Only part of the image was visible, but
something about the man’s face caught his
attention.
“Ms.
Nwankwo.”
She stopped and turned around.
Damian pointed toward her handbag.
“What is that?”
Chisimdi followed his gaze and immediately understood.
“Oh.”
She reached into the pocket and carefully
pulled out the photograph.
A faint smile touched her lips when she
looked at it.
“My father.”
Damian went still.
For a second, the room
seemed to disappear around him.
Chisimdi didn’t notice.
She was looking
down at the old photograph in her hand,
running her thumb gently over the bent
corner.
“It was one of the few pictures I had of him,” she explained.
“I don’t know why I still carry
it around.
I suppose I just like having it with
me.”
Damian’s eyes remained on the photograph.
He knew that face.
His gaze shifted briefly toward the drawer beside his desk, the one where he had kept
an old photograph of Emeka for years.
He didn’t need to see it again.
He already knew exactly what it looked like.
“Mr.
Adetola?”
Chisimdi’s voice pulled him back.
He realized he had been staring at the
photograph for too long.
She looked at him curiously.
“You knew my
father, didn’t you?”
There was no accusation in her voice.
Only
curiosity.
Damian looked at her for a moment before
giving a slow nod.
“Yes.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“You did?”
“I knew him.”
She took a small step closer, the photograph still held carefully between her fingers.
“What was he like?”
Damian looked at the picture again.
For a
moment, he could almost hear Emeka’s
laugh.
He remembered his confidence.
His temper.
The way his father had trusted him.
Then another memory threatened to surface.
Damian pushed it back.
“He was someone my family knew very well.”
Chisimdi’s expression changed.
She had
expected more.
“You don’t remember
much?”
“I remember enough.”
Something in his voice made her study him.
“You knew him when you were younger?”
Damian looked away toward the window.
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
She lowered the photograph slightly.
“So you actually remember him.”
Damian nodded once.
“I do.”
Chisimdi’s fingers tightened around the photograph.
“My mother doesn’t like talking
about him.”
Damian’s attention returned to her.
“Why?”
She gave a small shrug.
“I don’t know.
Whenever I ask, she changes the subject.”
Damian said nothing.
He knew there was
more to the story than that.
He just didn’t know how much of it
Chisimdi’s mother had told her.
She looked at him again.
“Did my father ever talk about me?”
The question caught him completely off
guard.
Damian’s expression softened before he could stop it.
“You were very young.”
“I know.”
“He spoke about his family.”
Something hopeful appeared in her eyes.
“What did he say?”
Damian hesitated.
He could have told her that Emeka had
spoken about his daughter.
That he had
once shown his father a photograph of a
little girl.
Instead, he chose his words carefully.
“He cared about you.”
Chisimdi looked down at the photograph.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she smiled faintly.
“I wish I
remembered him.”
Damian watched her.
There was something about the way she said it that made him look away.
“You should go home, Ms.
Nwankwo.”
She slipped the photograph back into her
handbag.
“Alright.”
She reached for the door, then paused.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Damian looked at her.
“You’re welcome.”
She gave him a small smile and left.
The
door closed quietly behind her.
Damian remained standing.
His eyes moved to the desk.
Then to the drawer beside it.
Damian walked back to his desk and
opened the drawer.
The old photograph was still where he had
left it.
He picked it up and stared at Emeka’s face.
For years, he had kept the picture without
knowing whether he was holding on to a
memory or refusing to let go of something
he didn’t understand.
Tonight, for the first time, he wondered
whether the answer had been sitting in that drawer all along.
Damian put the photograph back in the
drawer but didn’t close it immediately.
Downstairs, Chisimdi was probably already on her way home.
She had no idea what her father had meant
to his family.
She didn’t know what had happened
seventeen years ago.
And Damian wasn’t ready to tell her.
Not yet.
He closed the drawer.
But this time, the photograph didn’t
disappear from his thoughts.
Neither did the question that had been sitting quietly in the back of his mind since
he first saw her name.
What had really happened to Emeka
Nwankwo.