She looked him up and down with disgust.
—Then warn yourself first. People like you should learn where to stand when important people are passing.
The cleaner lowered his eyes.
His name was Tade.
But no one in that lobby knew he was Tade Balogun, only son of Chief Mrs. Morenike Balogun, the woman who owned the building, the company, the estates, the warehouses, and half the respect powerful men pretended not to owe her.
Chief Mrs. Morenike had built Balogun Group after her husband died when Tade was still a boy. Relatives had expected her to break. Business rivals had expected her to sell. Some family members had even gathered like vultures, whispering that a widow could not manage “men’s business” in Lagos.
But Morenike did not collapse. She buried her husband, tied her gele tighter, entered boardrooms, fought court battles, paid workers, expanded trucks from 7 to 200, and turned grief into an empire.
Yet her greatest fear was not losing money. It was seeing her son marry a woman who loved the Balogun name more than the man carrying it.
