The ritual suicide: A CEO's forced retirement upon the death of the charismatic company founder.
The horseman (Elesin): Femi, the brilliant but self-serving CEO of Oba Holdings.
The King: Oba, the company's visionary founder, who is deceased.
The Praise-Singer: Kunle, a marketing director who must publicly laud Femi's legacy during his "succession plan."
The Colonial District Officer (Pilkings): David Thompson, a Western venture capitalist representing the global investment firm funding the company.
The Son (Olunde): Dayo, a tech prod and Femi's son who returns from a top American university.
The New Bride: Tola, a young, ambitious executive chosen by Femi to be his successor in a public ritual.
Outline
Chapter 1: The Succession Ceremony
Setting: The sleek, glass-walled skyscraper of Oba Holdings in Lagos.
Action: Oba has died, and his hand-picked successor, Femi, must follow a pre-arranged "succession plan." This ritual, though framed in corporate-speak, demands Femi's career be ended to make way for a new successor, symbolizing his devotion to Oba's legacy. Femi, celebrated by the media (Kunle), basks in his public glory even as he feels the pressure of his forced retirement.
Key moment: Femi delays the official signing ceremony, citing the need to "secure the future" of the company by hand-picking a brilliant but inexperienced new successor, Tola. He privately admits to Kunle that he is reluctant to step down.
Chapter 2: The Foreign Intervention
Setting: The office of David Thompson, the head of the international investment firm.
Action: Thompson receives an alert about the delayed succession plan. Believing the traditional process is a "barbaric" business practice that will harm market confidence, he mobilizes to stop it. He sees Femi's "retirement" as a valuable asset he can't afford to lose.
Key moment: Thompson confronts Kunle, explaining the financial implications of Femi's forced departure and demanding that he delay the ceremony, using the leverage of the company's global expansion plans.
Chapter 3: The Returning Son
Setting: A vibrant, bustling tech start-up in Lagos.
Action: Dayo, Femi's estranged son, returns from the US to find his father's final act a spectacle of corporate suicide. He has rejected Oba's traditional corporate model in favor of a modern, merit-based system.
Key moment: Dayo confronts Femi, accusing him of vanity and weakness. He argues that his father's forced retirement is an antiquated and pointless custom that has no place in the future of the company or the country.
Chapter 4: The Failed Transition
Setting: The company's grand boardroom, decorated for the ceremony.
Action: The succession ceremony is in full swing. Femi is about to announce Tola as his successor when Thompson bursts in, supported by a team of lawyers and financial analysts. He threatens to withdraw funding, crippling the company if Femi goes through with the plan.
Key moment: Femi, publicly humiliated and stripped of his agency, is unable to complete the ritual. He stands silent as the world he built crumbles around him, his honor and authority destroyed not by a spiritual flaw but by the impersonal force of global finance.
Chapter 5: The Aftermath
Setting: A quiet back room off the main boardroom.
Action: Femi, stripped of his power, finds Dayo waiting for him. Dayo tries to comfort his father, saying that this is an opportunity for a fresh start. Femi, however, is broken. He has failed in his duty to the company and to Oba's memory.
Key moment: Kunle, loyal to Femi until the end, presents a small, ceremonial box. It contains the symbols of Femi's office. Femi, in a final act of devotion to his old mentor and his culture, takes a fatal business decision that saves the company but destroys his own legacy in the process.
Example scenes (prose excerpts)
Chapter 1: The Praise-Singer's Speech
Kunle’s voice, a slick baritone, filled the atrium, echoing off the polished marble and the faces of the assembled employees. “And so we gather not in mourning, but in celebration. A celebration of a legacy so vast, so unshakable, that even in his passing, Oba’s vision continues to guide us.” He gestured to the jumbo-tron, which displayed a montage of Oba’s life: a young man at a dusty market stall, a determined entrepreneur at a drafting table, a titan of industry shaking hands with world leaders. “And beside him every step of the way, his trusted horseman, his right-hand man, the inheritor of his vision… Femi!”
The crowd erupted in applause, but Kunle could see the hollowness in Femi’s smile. It was a well-rehearsed performance, the face of a man ready to accept his reward. But Kunle knew the truth. This was not a crowning. This was a corporate funeral.
Chapter 4: The Failed Transition
The media's flashbulbs lit up the room as Femi prepared to speak. His hands, gripping the podium, trembled slightly. He looked at Tola, the young woman with a sharp mind and a brighter future, and saw his own younger self. He had chosen well. This would be his final, and finest, act.
But before he could utter a word, the heavy oak doors of the boardroom swung open. Thompson, a red-faced, impeccably dressed man, strode in, followed by two impassive lawyers. His voice cut through the celebratory silence like a shard of glass. "Femi, we have a legal matter to discuss."
Femi stared, bewildered. He could see the reporters beginning to whisper, their celebratory tone shifting to one of predatory hunger. The ancient tradition was being dismantled by a new, more ruthless power.
Chapter 5: The Final Act
Dayo found his father in the private conference room, the champagne and hors d'oeuvres untouched. Femi was staring at the cityscape, his reflection lost in the darkening glass. Dayo approached him cautiously.
“Baba,” he said softly. “It’s over. You’re free.”
Femi turned, his eyes empty. "Free? A legacy is not a house you can walk away from, Dayo. It is the roof over your head. It is the air you breathe." He held out his hand, palm up. Kunle placed the small ceremonial box into it. Femi opened it and took out a single, ancient-looking fountain pen. "Oba gave me this. He said it was for the last signature I would ever make for him."
With a trembling hand, Femi clicked the pen and signed a document from Thompson's lawyers, a move that relinquished his remaining company shares to protect it from a hostile takeover. It was a career-ending move, but one that preserved Oba's vision for the company. He then looked at the pen and smiled sadly. "It is finished," he whispered.
Chapter 4: The Failed Transition (expanded)
The grand boardroom, on the 50th floor of the Oba Holdings skyscraper, was a gleaming shrine to corporate power. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Lagos, a sprawling tapestry of iron roofs and pulsating traffic that seemed to stretch into eternity. Tonight, however, the city's vibrant energy felt distant and muted inside the sterile calm of the room. A buffet of canapés and vintage champagne sat untouched, the air thick with anticipation. The assembled board members, press, and senior executives murmured amongst themselves, their attention fixed on Femi, who stood at the podium.
The Succession Ceremony was a masterful piece of corporate theater, orchestrated by Kunle, the marketing director, to evoke a sense of solemn tradition. Femi, the brilliant but self-serving CEO, was resplendent in a custom-tailored suit made from the finest Aso-Oke fabric, its metallic gold threads shimmering under the recessed lighting. This was his last great performance, his final tribute to Oba, the company's visionary founder.
"We gather not to mourn," Kunle’s smooth baritone voice had announced moments earlier, echoing through the state-of-the-art sound system. "But to celebrate. To pass the torch from one visionary to the next."
Femi, holding a ceremonial fountain pen, gave a practiced, humble smile. His eyes, however, betrayed a profound reluctance. This was the end of his professional life, the fulfillment of a promise made years ago. Yet, seeing the young, ambitious Tola waiting in the wings to be named his successor, Femi felt a surge of possessive regret.
As he raised the pen to sign the succession documents, the heavy oak doors at the back of the room burst open. All heads turned.
David Thompson, the imposing Western venture capitalist, stormed in, his face a mask of furious determination. He was flanked by two equally grim-faced lawyers, one clutching a briefcase, the other a folder of legal documents. The whispers in the room died instantly.
"Stop this!" Thompson's voice was sharp, a jarring note in the room's carefully composed harmony. "This entire procedure is in violation of our partnership agreement."
Femi lowered the pen, his smile replaced by a look of bewildered shock. "David, what is the meaning of this?" he asked, his voice low and strained.
Thompson marched to the podium, his American accent cutting through the sudden, fragile silence. "Meaning? The meaning is that Oba Holdings is a publicly traded company now, Femi. This barbaric 'succession plan' is a breach of contract and a direct threat to market confidence. My firm will pull all funding. We will launch a hostile takeover. Your stock will plummet. The company you and Oba built will be worthless by sunrise."
The room was plunged into chaos. The press, sensing a scandal, began snapping photos. Kunle, his carefully constructed ceremony in tatters, rushed to Thompson, trying to reason with him. The board members huddled in panicked discussion. The symbolic moment of passing the torch had become a public, humiliating spectacle.
Femi, still holding the pen, stared at the documents, at the elegant signature line that now seemed to mock his entire legacy. Thompson hadn't just intervened; he had destroyed the entire ritual, stripping Femi of his last shred of honor. The cultural weight of the ceremony, so carefully managed, had been dismissed as a "barbaric" business practice.
Chapter 5: The Aftermath (expanded)
Femi, stripped of his authority, was led to a quiet back room by his aides. The celebratory champagne and hors d'oeuvres mocked the desolate atmosphere. He sat at a small table, the ceremonial pen lying before him like a useless relic. His life's work, defined by this final act, had been rendered meaningless by a man who saw culture as a liability.
"Baba," a voice said softly.
Femi looked up to see his son, Dayo, standing in the doorway. Dayo, the tech prodigy who had rejected Oba's traditional model, looked at his father with a mixture of pity and sorrow.
"Dayo," Femi said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Your father... I have been undone."
"No," Dayo countered, sitting opposite him. "You were freed. This is an opportunity, a new beginning. You were trapped by a promise made long ago. Thompson just broke the chains for you."
Femi's face hardened. "What do you know of honor, boy? What do you know of promises made to the ancestors? This was not freedom; it was humiliation. Your grandfather—Oba—he would not have been undone like this."
The door opened again, and Kunle entered, his face etched with concern. He was no longer the slick marketing director but a devoted follower who had watched his leader's downfall. He placed a small, velvet box on the table.
"For you, sir," Kunle said, his voice respectful. "The symbols of your office."
Femi opened the box, revealing a collection of artifacts: Oba's signet ring, a leather-bound copy of the company's original charter, and a small, intricately carved wooden bird. The Not-I bird, a symbol from a tale Oba used to tell about those who are not afraid to die for a cause greater than themselves.
As Femi picked up the carved bird, the irony was not lost on him. He had boasted that he was not afraid to let go, to die for the company's legacy. But his actions, his lust for one last moment of power, had shown otherwise. He had faltered.
"Your honor can still be restored," Kunle said, a glint of desperate hope in his eyes.
Femi looked from the bird to his son, and a terrible realization dawned on him. The tradition, the cosmic order, demanded a sacrifice. And his son, who had scorned the past, was now a potential offering. Femi knew that Dayo, with his modern sensibility, would never understand or accept such a burden. But the ancestors did not care about market volatility or venture capital. They cared about the promise.
He stood, looking at Dayo. "My son," he said, his voice suddenly full of a chilling resolve. "You spoke of freedom. You were wrong. A legacy is not a house you walk away from. It is the very earth you stand on. And if that earth is poisoned, it poisons us all."
Then, with a devastating finality that transcended the sterile boardroom, Femi took his own life, a final, defiant act of devotion to Oba's vision, even as it condemned his soul. He had saved the company from Thompson's greed, but had forever stained his name in the eyes of the ancestors. As his body slumped to the floor, Kunle and Dayo stared in horror, realizing that the old gods, though silenced for a moment by the shouts of global finance, had claimed their tribute after
Chapter 5: The Aftermath (expanded)
The air in the private conference room was thick with the residue of ambition, shame, and despair. Femi, still dressed in his magnificent gold-threaded suit, sat at the head of a long, polished mahogany table, the ceremonial fountain pen now a useless scepter in his hand. The pen lay on a document from Thompson's lawyers, which, in his final, public humiliation, he had been forced to sign. The signature, a spiderweb of ink on the crisp paper, had extinguished his career and sealed his legacy.
The sound of his son's voice was a pinprick in the vast, echoing silence of his defeat.
"Baba," Dayo said softly, his own voice betraying a mix of sorrow and frustration. "It's over. You're free."
Femi turned, his eyes glazed. "Free?" he repeated, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "What do you know of freedom, boy? This was not a prison I was in. This was a legacy. A heritage. A promise." He held up the ceremonial pen. "This pen was the key to my destiny. Now, it is just a piece of metal."
Dayo, his hands in his pockets, looked at the floor. "The world has changed, Baba. The old traditions—they have no place in a corporation that operates on the stock market."
The door opened again, and Kunle, his face pale and drawn, entered. He held a small, velvet box in his hands. He placed it reverently on the table before Femi. The contents were Oba's signet ring, a leather-bound copy of the company's original charter, and a small, intricately carved wooden bird—the Not-I bird, a symbol from a tale Oba used to tell about those who are not afraid to die for a cause greater than themselves. Femi picked up the carved bird, the irony not lost on him. He had boasted that he was not afraid to let go, to die for the company's legacy. But his actions, his lust for one last moment of power, had shown otherwise. He had faltered, and now the ancestors demanded their due.
Kunle spoke, his voice filled with desperate hope. "Your honor can still be restored, sir. The company is safe. Your investment… it's in a blind trust. Thompson's firm will protect it."
Femi didn't hear him. He was staring at Dayo, his son, the modern man who had scorned the past, and a terrible realization dawned on him. The tradition, the cosmic order, demanded a sacrifice. And his son, with his modern sensibilities, would never understand or accept such a burden. But the ancestors did not care about market volatility or venture capital. They cared about the promise.
He rose from his chair, a final, chilling resolve settling on his features. He moved with a grace and dignity that was almost shocking after his public defeat. He walked over to a heavy, ornate cupboard and opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a single, crystal goblet, filled with a dark liquid.
"My son," he said, his voice suddenly full of a devastating finality. "You spoke of freedom. You were wrong. A legacy is not a house you walk away from. It is the very earth you stand on. And if that earth is poisoned, it poisons us all."
Then, with a devastating swiftness that transcended the sterile boardroom, Femi lifted the goblet to his lips and drank. Kunle and Dayo stared in horror, but there was nothing they could do. The liquid, a powerful poison, was already working its way through his
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