The governor's house was in chaos.
Security men were scrambling back and forth. Aides were whispering in fear, and the staff stood frozen, not knowing whether to run or stand still. From the inner living room, a loud crash rang out—the sound of a glass cup shattering against the wall.
The governor's voice followed immediately, raw with rage.
"What nonsense is this?!" he bellowed. "My own son—my own son—dead, and you're telling me it was some goddamn mistake? You people think I'm a fool?! I swear, I'm going to get to the bottom of this! Heads will roll! I don't care who it is—I don't care who's involved—someone will pay for this!"
He was pacing furiously, eyes red, fists clenched, his agbada already soaked from the heat of his own fury. He turned sharply and pointed at one of his aides.
"Call the Commissioner! Call the DPO! Call the bloody President if you have to! My son did not die for nothing!"
Just then, Chief stepped in.
