Mobola Johnson
I thought surviving Mr. Bako stealing my work was the worst part. But the real poison? It was in the silence that followed.
Nobody said a word about what happened. Not even a whisper of sympathy. Just tight smiles and shuffled feet, like it was normal for brilliance to be hijacked if it wore heels.
By Tuesday morning, the tone around me had shifted. People who once shared banter at the printer now avoided eye contact. Emails became curt. Conversations paused when I walked in.
Something was brewing. And I could feel it in my bones.
Brandfair was never a friendly place, but now it felt dangerous.
Linda pulled me aside near the restroom. “You think getting noticed by the client means anything?” she whispered. “You’re on someone’s radar now. That’s not always a good thing.”
I blinked. “Is that advice or a threat?”
She gave a tight smile. “Call it experience.”
That afternoon, during the pitch meeting for the *Zeda Mobile* account, the atmosphere was thick. Bako barely looked at me, but he repeated one of *my* lines word for word—except now, it was attributed to “his previous consultation work.”
I clenched my jaw.
Then I noticed it—Helen, the office gossip, watching me with unusual interest. A minute later, my phone buzzed. An anonymous text:
*“Watch the quiet ones. Not everyone smiling is on your side.”*
The blood drained from my face.
Who sent it? Helen? Someone else?
After the meeting, I returned to my desk only to find a folder tucked into my drawer. No label. No note.
Inside: printed copies of Slack messages—private ones—between me and Ife, a friend in HR. I scanned them. They weren’t incriminating, but they showed I’d voiced concerns about the company’s culture.
Why would someone print this?
And then I got it: intimidation. A warning. Someone had access. Someone was watching.
I looked around. Faces were buried in screens. But I knew better.
I was no longer just another staff. I was a threat—to someone.
And in Brandfair, threats are neutralized.
If I was going to survive, I had to stop playing fair.
The game had started. And I was already a pawn.
Mobola Johnson is a creative writer and a master storyteller