“I swear by Allah, He is my witness. I have no knowledge of how this money got lost. Everyone here can see the records of every income and expenditure from all our companies since the beginning of the year until now. If truly all the accounts our accountants presented are correct, then how could it be that now after recalculations, some funds are missing? I did not take it. Let the accounts be recalculated from scratch, perhaps an error occurred there,” Aminu Bechi said in deep distress.
It had been two weeks since trouble started at Bechi Group of Companies during the annual audit. After compiling everything as the Acting General Accountant, the figures did not tally with what he was given in writing and the physical cash records. A shocking shortfall of 2.5 billion naira emerged. After thorough investigation, the MD and Chairman called a full meeting of everyone significant in the company to understand how such a colossal loss had happened.
Alhaji Zakariyya Bechi, twisting in his chair with a half-smile that no one could interpret, looked at him and said:
“Aminu, you yourself admitted all the accounts presented to you matched. You didn’t sign off until you investigated everything and confirmed its accuracy. Also, as far as we know, only two people have access to our central account—you and the Chairman. Any money moving in or out must pass your approvals. So how do you expect us to believe the funds disappeared without your knowledge? Are you implying the Chairman himself took the money, or what exactly are you saying?”
Aminu turned toward the Chairman, who had been silent since the meeting began, his chin resting on both palms as he observed each speaker. The Chairman was an elderly man, at least in his seventies, but still vibrant from a life of comfort. Though he rarely smiled, today his expression was even harsher than usual. This was no surprise—money was at stake, money that had taken him a lifetime to accumulate.
Swallowing hard, Aminu steadied himself before addressing the MD, who awaited his defense:
“My statement remains—I did not take this money, nor do I know who did. As I said, let every department resubmit their yearly accounts immediately. I will personally review everything in detail and meet all our bank managers. God willing, the truth will emerge about where the money went.” His trembling voice carried a plea for the Chairman’s trust and a chance to prove his innocence. He knew two things could happen: either he would be forced to repay the 2.5 billion, an impossible task even if he sold his wife, children, and possessions, or he would face prison and the liquidation of all he owned to reduce the company’s losses. In fact, the day the funds were declared missing, he had already prepared his resignation letter, aware that dismissal was inevitable.
Accusations and Tensions Among the Bechi Family
“There’s no need to waste time on further investigation. By now, if you were innocent, something would have surfaced. Just admit it, Aminu—you took the money. Return it and let’s end this,” Naziru Bechi said, glaring fiercely.
“I agree,” added Alhaji Zakariyya. “If he insists on being stubborn, Chairman, I think we should hand him over to the Legal Department. They’ll know how to squeeze the truth out of him and recover the funds—or prosecute him properly.” His words stung Aminu, who shifted his gaze toward Alhaji Babangida Bechi and Yakubu Bechi, his Assistant Accountant General. Yakubu had been fiddling with his phone and Bluetooth earpiece throughout, pretending not to hear, while Babangida lowered his head in silence, refusing to intervene.
The room grew tense until finally, in the commanding tone only a Chairman could wield, Alhaji Audu Bechi spoke:
“I have listened carefully to all your statements and reviewed the documents earlier submitted. Account General, by 2:00 PM today, submit your resignation letter voluntarily. If we dismiss you, your career will be ruined, and no other firm will hire you. As for the money, whoever took it bears the burden.”
Aminu exhaled heavily, as if he had swallowed poison. His voice shook as he rose and bowed low:
“Thank you, Alhaji. May Allah increase your greatness. Thank you, thank you.”
Naziru and Zakariyya, who initially rejoiced at the Chairman’s ruling, exchanged disappointed glances when they realized it ended only in resignation, not punishment. Their hostility toward Aminu was no secret; many in the family resented his rise after the death of Mr. Adekunle Balogun, the long-serving Accountant General. On Legal Department’s advice, the position had gone to Aminu two years earlier, but since his appointment, irregularities had increased—this missing 2.5 billion being the worst scandal yet.
With bitterness, Alhaji Zakariyya asked:
“Sir, I heard you say he should resign, but I didn’t hear anything about refunding the money or facing consequences. Is that it?”
The Chairman replied sternly:
“Perhaps your ears deceive you. Ask your neighbor to repeat what I said. For now, Yakubu will take over until we decide on a permanent replacement. This meeting is concluded. You may all leave.”
Though annoyed, Zakariyya took solace in Yakubu’s appointment, since their household would still benefit. Mocking Aminu, he sneered as he exited:
“Truly, when one inherits privilege, worse things than this are expected. May Allah ease matters for you—but keep your troubles within your own family. Don’t let your rat-like behavior stain us further.”
Gradually, everyone filed out, leaving only Alhaji Audu, Alhaji Abdullahi (head of the Cement Division and his nephew), and Mustapha Manzo, the company’s Legal Head.
Doubts, Hidden Truths, and Chairman’s Final Word
“Honestly, Baba,” said Alhaji Abdullahi respectfully, “from my investigations, I don’t believe Aminu had a hand in this missing money.”
“I share the same view,” Mustapha Manzo added. “I’ve used every investigative tool available—nothing suggests Aminu is dishonest. What puzzles me is that the money is gone without any trace. There was no transfer, and we don’t deal in such huge cash withdrawals. My suspicion is that the funds never existed in the first place—that he was handed falsified accounts. I strongly believe the problem originates from the Oil Sector. Since Naziru took charge there, reports have been inconsistent. Mr. Obasaki has complained to me repeatedly, but Alhaji, you’ve taken no serious action. This is exactly why mixing family with business is dangerous—you hesitate to punish your own blood. But if this continues, I fear one day we’ll wake up to find not only profits gone but even our capital wiped out.”
Though outwardly nodding, the Chairman’s mind wandered. Zakariyya’s earlier remark about “inherited privilege” had stirred memories—his marriage to Aminu’s mother, their bitter separation, and unresolved wounds resurfaced.
“Baba,” Abdullahi pressed, “instead of outright dismissal, perhaps Aminu should be suspended for now. He’s hardworking and suitable for the role entrusted to him.”
Alhaji Audu looked directly at his son, Abdullahi—the most loyal among his children. With stern authority, he declared:
“My decision is final. If Barrister Manzo doesn’t understand, you, Abdullahi, know the story of Hadiza and the reason for our separation. I will not make reckless mistakes.”
Adjusting his royal-like flowing robe, he rose and strode out. The others followed silently, burdened by heavy thoughts, as the elevator doors slid open.
Description
The Missing Funds and Aminu’s Distress
“I swear by Allah, He is my witness. I have no knowledge of how this money got lost. Everyone here can see the records of every income and expenditure from all our companies since the beginning of the year until now. If truly all the accounts our accountants presented are correct, then how could it be that now after recalculations, some funds are missing? I did not take it. Let the accounts be recalculated from scratch, perhaps an error occurred there,” Aminu Bechi said in deep distress.
It had been two weeks since trouble started at Bechi Group of Companies during the annual audit. After compiling everything as the Acting General Accountant, the figures did not tally with what he was given in writing and the physical cash records. A shocking shortfall of 2.5 billion naira emerged. After thorough investigation, the MD and Chairman called a full meeting of everyone significant in the company to understand how such a colossal loss had happened.
Alhaji Zakariyya Bechi, twisting in his chair with a half-smile that no one could interpret, looked at him and said:
“Aminu, you yourself admitted all the accounts presented to you matched. You didn’t sign off until you investigated everything and confirmed its accuracy. Also, as far as we know, only two people have access to our central account—you and the Chairman. Any money moving in or out must pass your approvals. So how do you expect us to believe the funds disappeared without your knowledge? Are you implying the Chairman himself took the money, or what exactly are you saying?”
Aminu turned toward the Chairman, who had been silent since the meeting began, his chin resting on both palms as he observed each speaker. The Chairman was an elderly man, at least in his seventies, but still vibrant from a life of comfort. Though he rarely smiled, today his expression was even harsher than usual. This was no surprise—money was at stake, money that had taken him a lifetime to accumulate.
Swallowing hard, Aminu steadied himself before addressing the MD, who awaited his defense:
“My statement remains—I did not take this money, nor do I know who did. As I said, let every department resubmit their yearly accounts immediately. I will personally review everything in detail and meet all our bank managers. God willing, the truth will emerge about where the money went.” His trembling voice carried a plea for the Chairman’s trust and a chance to prove his innocence. He knew two things could happen: either he would be forced to repay the 2.5 billion, an impossible task even if he sold his wife, children, and possessions, or he would face prison and the liquidation of all he owned to reduce the company’s losses. In fact, the day the funds were declared missing, he had already prepared his resignation letter, aware that dismissal was inevitable.
Accusations and Tensions Among the Bechi Family
“There’s no need to waste time on further investigation. By now, if you were innocent, something would have surfaced. Just admit it, Aminu—you took the money. Return it and let’s end this,” Naziru Bechi said, glaring fiercely.
“I agree,” added Alhaji Zakariyya. “If he insists on being stubborn, Chairman, I think we should hand him over to the Legal Department. They’ll know how to squeeze the truth out of him and recover the funds—or prosecute him properly.” His words stung Aminu, who shifted his gaze toward Alhaji Babangida Bechi and Yakubu Bechi, his Assistant Accountant General. Yakubu had been fiddling with his phone and Bluetooth earpiece throughout, pretending not to hear, while Babangida lowered his head in silence, refusing to intervene.
The room grew tense until finally, in the commanding tone only a Chairman could wield, Alhaji Audu Bechi spoke:
“I have listened carefully to all your statements and reviewed the documents earlier submitted. Account General, by 2:00 PM today, submit your resignation letter voluntarily. If we dismiss you, your career will be ruined, and no other firm will hire you. As for the money, whoever took it bears the burden.”
Aminu exhaled heavily, as if he had swallowed poison. His voice shook as he rose and bowed low:
“Thank you, Alhaji. May Allah increase your greatness. Thank you, thank you.”
Naziru and Zakariyya, who initially rejoiced at the Chairman’s ruling, exchanged disappointed glances when they realized it ended only in resignation, not punishment. Their hostility toward Aminu was no secret; many in the family resented his rise after the death of Mr. Adekunle Balogun, the long-serving Accountant General. On Legal Department’s advice, the position had gone to Aminu two years earlier, but since his appointment, irregularities had increased—this missing 2.5 billion being the worst scandal yet.
With bitterness, Alhaji Zakariyya asked:
“Sir, I heard you say he should resign, but I didn’t hear anything about refunding the money or facing consequences. Is that it?”
The Chairman replied sternly:
“Perhaps your ears deceive you. Ask your neighbor to repeat what I said. For now, Yakubu will take over until we decide on a permanent replacement. This meeting is concluded. You may all leave.”
Though annoyed, Zakariyya took solace in Yakubu’s appointment, since their household would still benefit. Mocking Aminu, he sneered as he exited:
“Truly, when one inherits privilege, worse things than this are expected. May Allah ease matters for you—but keep your troubles within your own family. Don’t let your rat-like behavior stain us further.”
Gradually, everyone filed out, leaving only Alhaji Audu, Alhaji Abdullahi (head of the Cement Division and his nephew), and Mustapha Manzo, the company’s Legal Head.
Doubts, Hidden Truths, and Chairman’s Final Word
“Honestly, Baba,” said Alhaji Abdullahi respectfully, “from my investigations, I don’t believe Aminu had a hand in this missing money.”
“I share the same view,” Mustapha Manzo added. “I’ve used every investigative tool available—nothing suggests Aminu is dishonest. What puzzles me is that the money is gone without any trace. There was no transfer, and we don’t deal in such huge cash withdrawals. My suspicion is that the funds never existed in the first place—that he was handed falsified accounts. I strongly believe the problem originates from the Oil Sector. Since Naziru took charge there, reports have been inconsistent. Mr. Obasaki has complained to me repeatedly, but Alhaji, you’ve taken no serious action. This is exactly why mixing family with business is dangerous—you hesitate to punish your own blood. But if this continues, I fear one day we’ll wake up to find not only profits gone but even our capital wiped out.”
Though outwardly nodding, the Chairman’s mind wandered. Zakariyya’s earlier remark about “inherited privilege” had stirred memories—his marriage to Aminu’s mother, their bitter separation, and unresolved wounds resurfaced.
“Baba,” Abdullahi pressed, “instead of outright dismissal, perhaps Aminu should be suspended for now. He’s hardworking and suitable for the role entrusted to him.”
Alhaji Audu looked directly at his son, Abdullahi—the most loyal among his children. With stern authority, he declared:
“My decision is final. If Barrister Manzo doesn’t understand, you, Abdullahi, know the story of Hadiza and the reason for our separation. I will not make reckless mistakes.”
Adjusting his royal-like flowing robe, he rose and strode out. The others followed silently, burdened by heavy thoughts, as the elevator doors slid open.