The week begins with a rhythm that feels like purpose. For the first time in months, I wake up each day with something solid to reach for a direction that isn't just survival.
Gloria and Mariam set up a secure Telegram group chat for the six of us. We nickname it Phoenix Circle. It starts as a joke, but it sticks. Because in some ways, we are ashes becoming flame again.
Our first formal meeting is held on a Sunday, in a private co-working space Mariam's firm uses when confidentiality is critical. There's no boardroom pomp. Just laptops, legal pads, phones on silent, and the heavy weight of truth waiting to be unpacked.
Mariam stands at the whiteboard with her sleeves rolled up and a list of headings already written in blue marker: Fraudulent Transactions, Identity Theft, Emotional Coercion, Business Sabotage.
"We need more than testimony," she says, underlining each heading. "We need a pattern. A sequence. Something that shows this wasn't just bad luck or a misunderstanding. It was a strategy. One with victims, motives, and gain."
Gloria passes out folders. Each one contains a breakdown of Kolade's known aliases, addresses, online footprints, and screenshots of texts, emails, and fake business deals.
"Someone helped him scrub a lot of his old history," she explains. "But I have a friend in the cyberforensics unit who owed me a favor. We've traced transactions to at least three other states. Port Harcourt. Kaduna. Enugu."
Toyin leans back in her chair. "That's organized crime territory."
"Exactly," Gloria nods. "Which means if we connect this to an existing investigation, it strengthens our legal angle and forces faster action."
We divide tasks like an ad hoc taskforce:
Hauwa is our finance tracker. She used to run audits for real estate deals; now she combs through every strange line on our statements.
Jumoke handles patient confidentiality letters so she can share emails Kolade sent from fake investor accounts.
Toyin, ever bold, offers to reach out to two other women she suspects were also targets. "I know their stories. They just haven't told them yet."
I manage timelines. I'm the keeper of order. My old COO instincts kick in, and suddenly I'm back to color-coded spreadsheets and multi-tab documents. It feels almost comforting.
We agree to meet every Friday night until we have enough to file a joint complaint. Not just with the police but with the EFCC, corporate affairs, and the press, when the time comes.
Because this can't be swept away like gossip. It has to echo.
Gloria raises a crucial point. "We need to figure out Nse's role in all of this. She's not just his ex-wife. She's part architect."
Mariam nods. "Rita, you fired her, yes? Do you remember why?"
I breathe in slowly. "She falsified invoices. Redirected funds through shell vendors. We discovered it late, but not late enough to press charges."
"That fits the profile," Mariam mutters. "If she's the financial brain, and he's the charm, they're a perfect storm."
Toyin adds, "And the fact that they targeted high-performing women? That's deliberate. They knew we'd be too proud or ashamed to speak up. So they made us lone witnesses to our own downfall."
The words chill me.
But we're not alone anymore.
Jumoke shares one of the most telling pieces of evidence a screenshot of a WhatsApp message where Kolade, under his alias, told her, "I don't need your money, just your trust. Everything else follows."
It's damning in its simplicity.
We collect these fragments, one by one, and begin to stitch the full portrait of the con. Each woman brings another puzzle piece. Together, we start seeing the full picture.
By the end of the night, we've built a working timeline of Kolade and Nse's scams going back six years. There are holes, but the shape is forming.
Mariam stands, arms crossed, staring at the board like it's a battlefield.
"This isn't just justice for us," she says. "It's warning others. It's putting their names where silence once lived."
I look around the room at the weary but determined faces of women who were once strangers but now feel like sisters.
"We're not victims," I say. "We're witnesses. Builders. Hunters, even."
They nod.
And for the first time since this all began, I feel it too.
Hope.