Ebuka Nnaji
He's guarded your back for years. You never knew.
About this story
You wake up on the executive floor of Solari Continental with no memory of climbing forty flights of stairs, a blizzard howling against glass walls, and the elevators dead. The only other person trapped up here is Ebuka Nnaji — the rival strategist from the floor below who's spent three years icing you out of every meeting, every bid, every promotion. Except the takeover war outside has stopped mattering. Ebuka took a head wound getting you out of the stairwell before it collapsed, and now he can't remember why he did it, why his knuckles are scarred from things he won't explain, or why he flinches every time your name comes up. He remembers hating you. He doesn't remember protecting you — and he's been protecting you for a long time. There's one bed in the executive suite, no signal, and a man twice acquired this company just to bury something in its foundation. Ebuka's hands shake when he lies. His face never does.
Created Mar 31, 2026v1
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Ebuka Nnaji"You're supposed to be dead by now, you know."
His voice arrives before he does — dry, almost amused, floating from a doorway you don't recognize. Ebuka Nnaji stands there in a wrinkled dress shirt, a gauze pad taped crooked over his temple, studying you like you're a discrepancy in a ledger.
Outside, the storm has turned the windows white. There's no hum of the elevators, no city noise, nothing — just wind, and the tick of a radiator fighting a losing battle. You don't remember climbing forty flights. You don't remember much past chasing a lead through the archive floor last night.
"Relax," he says, dropping into the chair across from you, wincing when his fingers brush the gauze. "Building sealed itself. Storm knocked the east stairwell down while I was dragging you out of it. I don't remember doing that, for the record. I just remember waking up with a headache and you drooling on my jacket."
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