Chapter 7 — The CD That Shouldn't Exist
The rain didn't stop till morning.
Adanna didn't get much sleep. She sat by her small desk in her one-room apartment, staring at the old CD as if it were a living thing. The rain had slightly smeared the label, which read VOID_17.
She kept hearing Kene's voice.
"You being here is dangerous."
"Don't ask me for mercy."
The words twisted in her chest. He had saved her, but the way he disappeared into the rain again, without looking back, made her feel used. Or maybe protected. She couldn't tell which.
She turned on her laptop. She hesitated, then slid the CD in.
The screen stayed black for a moment. Then, a password prompt showed up.
She cursed softly.
Normal.
There was a small sticky note on her table, half-torn Chidi's handwriting. He had once said something about how "every locked box has a key that looks like nonsense." She tried the obvious ones: void, project, Kene, Adanna. Nothing. Then she remembered the paper from the workshop; K. O. 17.
She typed KO17.
The screen flickered, then loaded.
A video opened, shaky footage, as if it had been recorded secretly.
The first frame showed a large, official conference room. The camera angle was low, maybe hidden inside a bag. Voices murmured in the background. Then a man's voice- deep, confident.
"Gentlemen, the country doesn't need noise. It needs control. Project Void will ensure that."
Adanna's heart skipped. The voice was familiar. She leaned closer. The man at the table stood, facing others in dark suits. His face turned just enough for the light to hit it.
Senator Udo.
The same man in the photograph with Kene.
He continued:
"Our job is simple. We keep information contained. Any leak, any journalist that crosses the line, gets wiped, not killed, just erased. History forgets them."
Adanna froze. Following her most recent exposé, which ended her career, her name had previously been on that list. Her file had vanished from the ministry's records. Her awards, gone from the archives. As if she'd never existed.
She whispered to herself, "Void doesn't kill you. It deletes you."
Then she saw him.
Kene.
He was sitting two seats from the senator, wearing a dark suit and a small badge. He wasn't bound. He wasn't entering covertly. He looked like he belonged there.
The camera caught him turning his head slightly, mumbling something softly. Another man nodded.
Her stomach turned.
So this was what he meant by "I'm still fighting."
Fighting for who?
The video cut off suddenly. Then another file started loading automatically, an audio clip, titled Runelog_17.mp3.
She hit the play button.
Chidi's voice came through first, shaky but clear:
"If you found this, Ada, it means I'm gone. Don't trust anyone, not even the ones who saved you. Project Void has layers. The senator isn't the one in charge. Look deeper, the funding came from outside. Find the ledger, it's hidden in the old press club office, room seventeen. It's still there. They will, however, come for it. They always do."
Then there was a sharp metallic sound, like a door breaking and muffled shouting.
The clip ended.
Adanna sat still. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears.
Room 17. Old Press Club.
That place had been sealed since 2003 after a mysterious fire.
But she remembered it, she had interned there.
Suddenly her phone vibrated. Unknown Number was displayed on the Caller ID.
She hesitated, then answered.
"Adanna Adenike," a low voice said. "You have to get out of your apartment. Right Now."
Her throat tightened. "Who is this?"
Three seconds of silence. Then: "They traced the CD. You've got less than five minutes."
The line went dead.
Her window rattled; wind, or something else. She jumped to her feet, grabbed the CD, her bag, and a flash drive. She stuffed everything in and ran out through the back door.
As she reached the narrow alley behind her building, two black SUVs stopped at the main road. Men in black jackets stepped out. She ducked, pressing herself against the wall.
One of them shouted, "Check the side rooms!"
She moved fast, slipping through the neighbour's compound. A woman selling akara stared at her but said nothing as Adanna hurried past.
When she finally stopped to breathe, she was two streets away, under an old telecom mast. The rain had started again, thin and cold. Her phone vibrated, a message from the same unknown number:
"If you want to live, come to the press club. Room 17. Tonight."
Her fingers shook. She typed back: Who are you?
The reply came almost instantly.
"You already know."
Kene.
Her eyes burned with confusion and anger. He had warned her not to dig, yet now he was leading her deeper. She didn't know if it was protection or manipulation. Maybe both.
But she knew one thing , she couldn't stop now.
Chidi was dead. Project Void was real. And her name was back in the file.
Later that night
The old press club building sat behind the federal secretariat, its roof half-collapsed, the sign faded. Adanna stood outside, clutching her flashlight. The gate creaked when she pushed it.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and old paper. She passed torn posters on the walls, headlines from forgotten years: "Fuel Scandal Exposed," "Missing Billions in National Treasury," "Investigative Team Honoured."
She found the stairs half-broken but still climbable. Her light caught the faded sign on a door: Room 17.
The handle turned easily.
Inside was darkness, except for the faint red blink of an old power light.
On a wooden desk sat a single envelope.
Her name was written on it in neat, bold letters: Adanna Adenike.
Her heart pounded. She reached for it then heard a soft click behind her.
The door had closed.