Chapter 11- Millionaire for a week
“This is the second bank. I finally don’t have to carry that money everywhere with me,” Bell muttered to himself, a hint of relief in his voice.
Behind him stood the statue of a horse, frozen mid-leap, as if ready to break free at any moment.
It was the symbol of this bank, one of the biggest on the continent. A symbol of wealth, elegance, and swiftness.
But in another sense, it resembled an oracle — the representation of a system that benefits from people’s care and trust, yet ultimately cares only for itself when it matters most.
Today, Bell carried a blue backpack. There was still some liquidity inside.
The wind dragged along the noise of traffic. The sun burned overhead, and dust carried by passing vehicles scraped against the lungs of the numerous pedestrians — a mass of people from different origins, long accustomed to carrying the weight of everyday life.
As Bell walked, he soon stopped in front of a restaurant.
A faint sense of confusion brushed against his mind.
Déjà vu.
“It feels like I’ve already been here… but at the same time, I have no memory of this moment.”
The sensation had been growing, “contaminating” his everyday life ever since he started obtaining Thésée’s fragmented memories of the future in his dreams.
It was frustrating.
He could remember a random face from a meeting two years ahead — yet he could not foresee tragic incidents happening in his own neighborhood beforehand.
The déjà vu only came after the event had already taken place.
“I cannot fully rely on my memories.”
That conclusion had formed gradually over time.
The knowledge that the notebook where he usually recorded information was on his person felt reassuring.
Written facts were harder to distort.
Maintaining a calm expression and steady pace, Bell entered the establishment.
His eyes scanned the place methodically until he recognized a familiar figure seated at a strategically placed corner table — one rarely frequented.
A quick glance at his watch confirmed he had arrived on time.
Though the other person had arrived even earlier.
Sole Baye sat comfortably, seemingly having completely recovered from the events of the other day.
His composure, mental fortitude, and the way he sometimes seemed to own the space around him were qualities rarely seen at their age.
By now, Sole had already noticed him.
A smile spread across his lips — friendly, yet concealing alertness.
His gaze briefly inspected the backpack before he adopted a more welcoming posture.
“Seems like I made you wait?” Bell said as he took his seat.
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“No problem. You arrived right on time. I only got here earlier because I was quite free today,” Sole replied, pressing his palms together lightly in mock apology.
“I’m reassured,” Bell smiled before signaling the waitress.
As she approached to take their order, Sole’s smile brightened further.
It wasn’t about money. In Camaroes, enjoying free milk in the right state of mind was practically a matter of culture. And Sole truly seemed like a connoisseur.
“Don’t hesitate. Enjoy yourself. Don’t forget, I’m a millionaire now,” Bell said with a smile.
Sole’s eyes nearly snapped out of their sockets.
A heavy weight settled in his mind.
From the way Bell acted, he seemed relaxed about the debt. Confident. Unstressed.
That was either a very good sign.
Or a very bad one.
The waitress had arrived just in time to hear the last part of their exchange. Her expression brightened, expectation flickering subtly across her face. Her smile became more natural, more genuine, softening her features.
The feeling of déjà vu intensified.
She looked familiar.
And he was almost certain he had never met her.
Bell glanced briefly at the menu and ordered a traditional dish with beverages.
Ndolé with miondo.
The first was a rich soup made from peanut paste and shredded leafy vegetables, golden shrimp resting within the thick sauce. The second was a side dish often called cassava stick — slender white cylinders of steamed cassava dough.
Bell was fully aware that this might be one of his last chances to enjoy this kind of food freely.
Sole ordered two dishes of his own. The waitress patiently noted everything before moving away, assuring them the food would arrive shortly.
Bell’s eyes lingered on her departing figure.
“Do you know her?” the ever-observant Sole asked.
“No. She just looks familiar,” Bell answered absentmindedly.
“You know, some periods in life aren’t the best to find the love of your life,” Sole said with mock wisdom, pulling Bell back to the present.
Bell removed the bag from his back.
With a calm smile, he extracted a bundle of notes and placed it on the table in front of Sole, shielding the movement from the other patrons.
Sole wordlessly took the money and began counting.
Efficient.
“Three hundred thousand naira,” he said confidently after barely fifteen seconds.
“What’s this for?” A glint appeared in his eyes.
“I want you to work for me,” Bell said calmly. He paused, letting the words sink in.
“That’s your pay. For the next six days.”
As the weight of those words settled, Sole nearly choked on the water he was drinking.
“What?”
“What kind of work is this?” Sole asked, disbelief written plainly across his face.
That wasn’t generosity.
That was insanity.
Even escort girls were rarely paid that much around here.
Sole looked at Bell suspiciously, only to notice that a file had already been placed on the table.
Without hesitation, he took it and opened it.
Inside was a detailed list: warehouse rental, truck rental, electrical appliances, generators, oils, surveillance systems, welding equipment, and various materials. There were also food supplies, water reserves, and other items that clearly looked like provisions.
Preparation.
That was the word forming in Sole’s mind.
There were additional tasks: cataloging specific buildings and industries within certain areas of the city, annotating maps.
“Is this that business you were talking about?” Sole asked, confusion still evident.
“Only one aspect of it,” Bell replied with a faint smile.
The lack of hesitation in his tone gave the strange impression that everything was under control.
Foolishness and confidence had always been separated by a thin line.
But on closer inspection, Sole noticed something else.
Some items on the list were restricted. Limited in circulation. Requiring legal permits that Bell clearly did not possess.
Realizing that, Sole felt oddly reassured.
After all, free pie never fell from the sky.
He was not being paid for nothing.
Before he could start discussing price adjustments, Bell spoke again.
“I don’t expect you to handle everything alone. Recruit three other people you trust. I’ll pay them twenty-five thousand naira per day. And don’t forget — you’ll need a driver.”
“Deal,” Sole said immediately, sliding the money efficiently into his waistband.
Just then, the waitress returned, accompanied by another young woman pushing a dish cart.
The plates were served quickly.
Bell paid with his newly issued credit card and left a generous tip.
Neither girl wore name tags.
“What could be your precious name?” Bell asked, trying to conceal the urgency in his voice.
He was not used to asking strangers for their names.
But he needed to understand where that feeling of déjà vu came from.
The girl remained silent for a moment before smiling, as if amused by a private thought.
“My name is Precious,” she said.
Bell simply smiled in return.
The restaurant remained lively around them.
As the waitresses moved away, Bell turned back to find Sole watching him with a knowing grin.
“Do you want some tips to bag the girl? Don’t worry, I’ll give you a good price,” Sole joked.
“Thank you for the offer,” Bell replied evenly.
“But I’d rather you tell me more about the man from yesterday.”
He leaned slightly forward.
“His name was Don Shapiro, right?”
Alternative title: Recruitment
