The room smelled of fresh paint and promise.
Long white tables lined the freshly polished hall, and sunlight spilled through open windows onto easels and sketchpads. Dozens of children—boys and girls from Agege, Mushin, Iwaya—drew in bright crayons and watercolors, their laughter the loudest sound in the room.
At the center of it all stood Majek Adebayo, hands smudged with blue paint, helping a boy named Tobi blend sunset orange with indigo on canvas.
"You don't need to color inside the lines," Majek said. "That's not where dreams live."
Tobi grinned and smeared color freely. "You sound like a teacher."
"I'm not," Majek smiled. "I'm just someone who learned how not to be afraid."
The Adebayo-Lewis Creative Institute
"ALCI" was officially opened two weeks ago.
An independent branch under the SMG Foundation, the project was Agnes and Majek's shared vision: a sanctuary for gifted children in low-income neighborhoods to explore art, innovation, storytelling, and design—without the fear of judgment or failure.
What started as an idea in Majek's sketchbook had now taken physical form in a renovated train warehouse just outside Yaba.
Today was their third workshop. The students were already calling Majek "Mr. Color."
Agnes arrived just before noon.
She wore jeans and a soft lilac blouse—her "off-duty" CEO look.
Majek spotted her immediately.
He wiped his hands and walked over, his smile more honest than any artist's brushstroke.
"How's the boardroom today?" he teased.
"Quiet. Boring. I missed the chaos here," she said, scanning the color-filled walls.
She stopped in front of a mural painted by four girls aged ten to twelve. It depicted a woman in a storm, holding a lantern.
Agnes tilted her head. "Is that me?"
Majek smirked. "They said they wanted to paint a woman who never stops walking. Even when thunder comes."
Agnes was quiet. Then: "I don't deserve that kind of faith."
Majek touched her back gently. "You earned it. Every step."
That Evening – Planning Meeting at Echo Studio
Agnes, Majek, and three key trustees of the foundation gathered around a glass table to discuss funding strategy for the next phase of the institute: a tech/innovation annex and community digital library.
Among the trustees was Emeka Okoye, one of SMG's top legal and financial consultants. Mid-thirties, Ivy League trained, always impeccably dressed. Agnes trusted him.
"I've run through the allocations for Q3," Emeka said, tapping his tablet. "If we secure the RISEAfrica Development Grant this quarter, we can double enrollment and build a second facility in Makoko by March next year."
Majek leaned in. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just bureaucracy. I'll prepare the application."
Agnes nodded. "Make it transparent. We don't do shadows here."
Emeka smiled tightly. "Of course."
Two Weeks Later – The Betrayal
It started with an anonymous tip to the SMG Foundation's ethics mailbox.
Subject: "Your grant manager has offshore dealings."
Attached: A screenshot of a wire transfer—$58,000 USD from the RISEAfrica pre-approval fund rerouted to a holding company in Mauritius. The account was connected to a third-party logistics firm run by Emeka Okoye's cousin.
Agnes dropped the phone.
Majek picked it up, reading the attachment again.
"This is him?" Majek asked.
Agnes nodded. "He was the one filing the application."
Her voice was shaky.
"I trusted him."
Emergency Internal Audit – 48 Hours Later
The team confirmed everything.
Emeka had used his access to route the initial grant installment through a shadow partner under the guise of "logistics preparation," masking it as operations cost.
He didn't expect the audit to come so soon.
Agnes confronted him privately.
Her voice was calm. Controlled.
"I trusted you."
Emeka didn't deny it. "I thought you'd never look that deep. No one ever checks the grant ledgers this early."
"You were building this with us."
He sneered. "No. You were building a castle in the slums. I was finding value."
"You were stealing from children."
He shrugged. "I was just trying to get paid."
Agnes stared at him.
"No place in my world," she whispered. "Not anymore."
Public Statement
Agnes moved fast. With SMG's ethics board and external media consultants, she issued a statement within 24 hours:
"The ALCI Grant Diversion was the isolated act of one internal trustee. That individual has been removed and all misallocated funds have been recovered. Our mission remains unchanged: to create a future where brilliance is not bound by privilege."
Majek read the statement beside her, his hand resting over hers on the table.
"You handled that like a queen," he whispered.
She didn't smile.
"I'm tired of having to."
Later That Week – ALCI Studio Hall
Majek returned to the institute alone, standing in front of a massive blank canvas.
The kids were gone for the day. The silence hung thick.
He began to paint—sweeping gold over navy. Circles into fire. Darkness into movement.
Hours passed.
Agnes arrived silently, watching from the doorway.
He didn't see her until he stepped back.
"What is it?" she asked, stepping forward.
He stared at the piece.
"It's the future. Not clear. Not perfect. But still in motion."
Agnes looked at him.
"Even after betrayal… you still believe?"
"I have to," Majek said. "Otherwise we're just building walls."
She walked closer.
"I used to think legacy was reputation," she said. "Now I think it's resilience."
He smiled.
"Then we're already halfway there."
Final Scene – Opening of ALCI Makoko Annex (Four Months Later)
The ribbon cut clean across the archway.
Dozens of kids ran through the new digital library, laughter echoing across the lagoon.
Majek stood beneath a painted banner. It read:
ALCI: Where Dreams Find Room to Breathe.
He turned to Agnes.
"Do you believe in what we've made?"
She took his hand.
"I believe in what we're becoming."
And behind them, the children painted a new mural.
Two silhouettes walking forward, hand-in-hand.
One holding a flame.
The other, a brush.