The Therapist: Chapter 8

The harsh fluorescent lights in Marcus Oladipo’s office flickered briefly as he paced the room, his phone gripped tightly in his hand. His palms were clammy, his shirt clinging to his back despite the cool air conditioning. He had been dreading this moment since the knock on his door two days earlier, when Baba Jide’s thugs had shown up with their veiled threats.

He had avoided calling Baba Jide, hoping for a miracle that never came. Now, the deadline was approaching, and the silence was no longer safe—it was deadly.

With a deep breath, Marcus dialed the number, each beep making his heart pound harder. The call connected after two rings.

“Doctor,” Baba Jide’s voice came through, calm and composed, a stark contrast to the chaos in Marcus’s mind. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“Never,” Marcus said, forcing a steadiness into his voice that he didn’t feel. “I’ve been working on it. I’ll have your money soon.”

The pause on the other end of the line felt like an eternity. Then, a low chuckle. “Soon. That’s a word I’ve heard from you too many times, Oladipo.”

“I’m serious this time,” Marcus insisted. “I’ve taken on new clients, high-profile ones. The money’s coming.”

Baba Jide’s voice darkened, the amusement gone. “Do you think I’m stupid, Doctor? You think I don’t know about your clients? Victor Adebayo. Claire Adebayo. Big names, yes. But big names don’t mean big money if you’re playing them wrong.”

Marcus’s throat tightened. How did Baba Jide know? Had his thugs been spying on him?

“You’ve been asking questions,” Baba Jide continued, his tone sharp. “Digging where you shouldn’t. Crestline Logistics, offshore accounts… interesting hobbies for a therapist.”

Marcus felt the floor tilt beneath him. He hadn’t been subtle enough, and now Baba Jide was onto him.

“I’m just trying to survive,” Marcus said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” Baba Jide replied. “Because survival is all you should be focusing on. I don’t care how you get the money, Oladipo, but you have three days. No more. And if you’re thinking of using Victor Adebayo against me…”

There was another pause, and Marcus could hear faint laughter in the background, men’s voices mingling with the clink of glasses.

“Let’s just say, Victor is a valuable player in this city. Don’t let your desperation make you forget how dangerous valuable men can be.”

The line went dead.

Marcus sank into his chair, his hands trembling. Baba Jide wasn’t bluffing. If anything, the mob boss had been unusually lenient, giving him as much time as he had. But now, the game had changed.

Victor’s connections ran deep, and Baba Jide clearly had his own reasons for protecting the man. If Marcus tried to expose Victor’s illegal dealings, he would likely find himself caught between two immovable forces: Victor’s cartel allies and Baba Jide’s enforcers.

For the first time, Marcus considered running. He had a little savings left in a hidden account—enough to leave Lagos and start over somewhere far away. But the thought of leaving his sister and her son behind paralyzed him. Baba Jide wouldn’t hesitate to punish them if Marcus disappeared.

He buried his head in his hands, his mind racing. He needed a way out, but every move felt like a trap.

The next day, Marcus met with Victor for a private session. Claire had canceled at the last minute, claiming she was unwell, but Marcus suspected she simply wanted to avoid Victor.

Victor was unusually quiet, his responses clipped and his demeanor guarded. Marcus decided to tread carefully.

“You seem preoccupied today,” Marcus said, keeping his tone light. “Anything on your mind?”

Victor leaned back on the couch, his sharp eyes studying Marcus. “Life is stressful, Doctor. You wouldn’t understand.”

Marcus offered a small smile. “Try me.”

For a moment, Victor said nothing. Then, he leaned forward, his voice low. “You ever feel like you’re being watched? Like everyone around you is waiting for you to make a mistake?”

Marcus’s stomach churned. The question hit too close to home. “That sounds exhausting,” he said carefully. “Do you think that’s true, or is it just a feeling?”

Victor’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. “It’s true. In my line of work, one mistake can destroy everything.”

The words were loaded, and Marcus didn’t miss their meaning. Victor was well aware of the precarious nature of his empire, but he wasn’t the type to admit weakness.

“And yet, you’ve built so much,” Marcus said, steering the conversation. “That takes skill, resilience.”

Victor nodded slowly, his expression softening slightly. “Resilience, yes. But trust me, Doctor—sometimes resilience isn’t enough.”

Later that evening, Marcus sat in his apartment, staring at a blank piece of paper on his desk. He needed a plan, but his options were narrowing.

Victor was a dangerous ally, but perhaps he could be leveraged. If Marcus could find a way to play Victor and Baba Jide against each other without implicating himself, he might have a chance. But one wrong move would mean certain death.

He scribbled notes furiously, mapping out scenarios:

1. Betray Victor to Baba Jide: High risk. Baba Jide’s reaction could be unpredictable, and Victor’s cartel allies might retaliate.

2. Use Victor to eliminate Baba Jide: Nearly impossible. Victor would never act without concrete evidence that Baba Jide was a threat.

3. Play both sides carefully: The most viable option, but also the most dangerous. Marcus would have to feed just enough information to both men to keep them at bay while protecting his own interests.

As he stared at the options, Marcus felt the weight of his situation crushing him. The tightrope he was walking was getting thinner by the minute, and the stakes were higher than ever.

“Three days,” he muttered to himself. “Three days to figure this out—or I’m dead.”