Imama was unaware of the entire situation. She was hopeful and Salar didn't want her to be part of the tension he was going through.

"Is everything okay, Salar?" She asked suddenly while packing his things that night. He was preparing his briefcase.

"Yes, why do you ask?" Salar replied.

"Why are you going to Washington?" She had difficulty phrasing her concern as a suitable question.

"There's a meeting, and I often travel here and there. Why are you asking such questions this time?" He said while closing his briefcase.

"You've never seemed so worried before." For a few moments, he couldn't respond to her question. Despite his efforts, his face couldn't hide his mental state from Imama.

"No, there's no major problem. Just that I might have to leave my job." He tried to keep his words and tone as normal as possible while placing his hand on Imama's shoulder.

This time, it was Imama's turn to be shocked.

"Leave your job? You were very happy with your job." She was more surprised than she would have been otherwise.

"I was, but I'm not now," Salar said briefly.

"There are some issues. I'll explain when I get back."

"Take care of yourself and the kids. Where are they?" Salar changed the subject smoothly. For a moment, he thought that under these circumstances, he shouldn't leave his children and Imama alone in Kinshasa, but what could he do? Imama was in the last months of her pregnancy. She couldn't travel by plane, and he couldn't afford to either postpone or cancel the meeting in Washington.

"Take good care of yourself and the children... I'm only going for three days, and I'll be back soon." He was now affectionately looking at Jibreel and Inaya sleeping in their room. His flight was in a few hours.

"Keep the maid at home during my absence," he instructed Imama.

"Don't worry about us. It's just for three days. You just focus on your meeting. I hope everything goes well," Imama reassured him. She had to leave in half an hour. Her things were packed. They were sitting together in the lounge for one last cup of tea, and just before taking the first sip, Salar said to her, "I love you, and I will always love you."

Imama picked up her tea, paused, and then laughed. "It's been a long time since you've said anything like this before leaving somewhere. Is everything alright?" She was now patting his hand.

Salar smiled and picked up his cup of tea. "Yes, everything is fine, but I'm worried because I'm leaving you alone."

"I'm not alone. Jibreel and Inaya are with me. Don't worry," she said. Salar continued sipping his tea, and Imama began drinking hers, but she felt as if he wanted to say something.

"Do you want to tell me something?" she asked.

He was startled and then smiled while drinking his tea. She always read him well. Always.

"I want to confess, but I'll do it later when I come back," he said, putting down his cup.

"I don't like this habit of yours, always leaving me in suspense before you go. I'll keep wondering what you wanted to confess," Imama said, as usual, with a touch of frustration. He always did this intentionally.

"Okay, I won't do it again," he said, getting up with a smile. It was time for him to leave. Extending his arms, he was saying goodbye to Imama one last time before leaving, as always, with a warm hug.

"I will miss you. Come back soon," she said, emotionally, repeating the same words she always said.

Standing on the porch, she waved goodbye for the last time as Salar's car drove away, speeding down the driveway and out through the open gate. Imama felt as if life and time had come to a standstill. Whenever he went away, she was always left in this state of suspension, and today was no different. The guard had now closed the gate.

A lot changes after six years of marriage. Life seems to move along a track—a routine of daily life. Even if one doesn't want it, a person starts to travel in circles. The arrival of two children had also brought Salar and Imama's lives into a circle, where their selves took a back seat, and the center stage was occupied by the children.

The web of fears, expectations, and misunderstandings that bind a newlywed couple in the early days of marriage begins to unravel. Trust doesn't turn into distrust in an instant. Disbelief learns to vanish in an instant. Complaints begin to emerge. Bonds start to become habits, and life begins to pass in a routine.

 People forget the count of days, weeks, and months—years even. Imama had also forgotten. She no longer wanted to look back because the past held memories, and memories could wrap around like an octopus. Nothing was left behind, and for those that were, she had long been dead to them.

The atmosphere in the boardroom was not what Salar had always seen. Seriousness was a part of every board meeting, but what he observed that day was not seriousness but a cold formality. This cold formality was not just reflected in the demeanor and actions of one or two individuals but was apparent in the faces and eyes of everyone present. It was a coldness that could intimidate even the most nervous individual... Impassive faces, eyes that could pierce through, and a smile that could be more of a sneer than a friendly gesture... Even if a smile did appear, it was only a brief, mocking, and insulting flash that vanished quickly.

Around a table, with their legs crossed, were five men and two women, experts in their field, who had dismantled many unscrupulous employees of the World Bank like Salar Sikandar. These were individuals who had, at some point in their careers, been confronted with issues of professional ethics, or lack thereof, within the World Bank. They knew everything about Salar Sikandar's career, and he knew as much about them. None of them needed an introduction.

Salar Sikandar listened patiently to the head of the meeting as he began with remarks about Salar's incompetence and failures. Salar felt the scrutiny of the remaining six people as if a charge sheet was being read out, with Michael Frank detailing allegations related to the project. Salar continued to listen with an impassive expression to these accusations, though the agenda of the meeting was not supposed to be this.

"I want to present on this project before answering any of these allegations because I believe this presentation will address many of the questions and objections you have about me," Salar said, instead of responding to any of Michael's initial remarks. None of the seven individuals stopped him from making the presentation, but none showed interest in understanding its significance or purpose either.

Salar showed slide after slide on the projector. The presentation included many facts and figures from his research, which demonstrated various issues. If the World Bank's project in Africa were to be implemented, it could lead to severe damage to the pygmies and other aspects of the jungle ecosystem... The presentation highlighted violations of the World Bank's charter by this project, evidence of exploitation of local populations by companies working in the Congo, and reports containing concerns of international donor companies and NGOs. If this presentation had been published by a newspaper or news network, it would have been the biggest scandal for the World Bank in Africa.

The seven people watched the presentation with stern faces, and at the end of the half-hour presentation, their collective concern was clear: Salar Sikandar held a grenade in his hand with the pin pulled. The issue wasn't whether throwing the grenade at someone would save them—it would cause destruction wherever it exploded. The projector screen went blank. Salar looked at the faces of the seven, noting Michael's, who was presiding over the meeting. After years of public dealing, he had a good sense that he had invested his time in preparing and presenting this presentation.

"So, you do not want to work on this project?" Michael broke the silence, confirming Salar's concerns about the people in the boardroom.

"I want the World Bank to terminate this project in Congo," Salar stated firmly. Michael did not explain the abruptness of the termination request, but Salar did not waste time on it either.

"You are making absurd statements. You expect the World Bank to terminate a project that has been underway for years just because you have developed a phobia that the Bank supports projects violating basic human rights in Congo?" Julia Peter, the second most senior person after Michael, said with a highly mocking and provocative smile.

"If I am suffering from a phobia or mental disturbance, then this illness has now affected the millions of people living in these jungles," Salar replied bluntly.

"What are you? In what capacity are you in Congo? As a World Bank employee or as a human rights activist? The people of Congo or the pygmies are not your concern. Your sole priority should be to complete this project on schedule and achieve all its objectives," Alexander Rafael, one of the closest aides to the President of the World Bank, interjected sharply.

"Have you read your contract and the terms and conditions you agreed to when you signed it? You are in violation of your contract... and the bank reserves the right to terminate your employment in response," he added.

The harshness in his tone was his identifying mark; he was known for that coldness and indifference. Salar was aware of the unique characteristics of all those present, in addition to their abilities.

"I have read my contract, and not just once but many times. I have also read the World Bank's charter, and nowhere in my contract or the World Bank's charter does it state that I am required to perform any work that violates fundamental human rights or the laws and regulations of any country. If such a clause were included in my contract and I had ignored it, you can point it out. I will read it in my contract right now. I have a copy of my contract in email," he said as he turned on his laptop again.

Alexander Rafael was momentarily speechless. The lines on his forehead deepened, and years of stress had turned them into permanent wrinkles. He only looked pleasant when a fleeting smile appeared on his face; otherwise, his expression was a prominent feature of his demeanor. As he shifted his gaze, he said to Salar, 

"Do you consider yourself more competent than those who initiated this project after years of research? Do you think those who developed the feasibility study were idiots?" He asked, now in a mocking tone.

"No, they were not idiots, and neither am I an idiot. They were simply unfair, and I am fair. It's a matter of integrity that was overlooked in the feasibility report of this project. It is not possible that the people who prepared this report were so blind that they missed what I and countless local people are seeing. 

The World Bank should conduct a re-investigation of this project by forming an inquiry committee. I am sure that if that committee works with integrity, they will also see what I see," Salar responded, ignoring Rafael's condescending remarks.

"I think it would be better to resolve this deadlock by taking an action that has arisen between your office in Washington and Gombe regarding this project," said Bill Joules. He was responsible for coordinating with the World Bank's media in Washington and played a significant role in suppressing international media reports about the project.

"Resign, as you offered in the presentation and official correspondence with the bank because you cannot handle this project in this manner," he advised Salar with apparent patience and diplomacy.

"If the World Bank considers this option more suitable, I have no objections. I too see resignation as the only solution to this issue, but I will include all the facts and figures from this presentation in my resignation, and I will also document my objections and make the resignation public," Salar said.

For a few moments, silence prevailed in the boardroom. They had reached a critical point for which Salar Sikandar had been summoned from Congo to Washington, and which had become a thorn in the World Bank's side. The seven people in the boardroom had only two tasks: either prepare Salar Sikandar to continue with the project or ask him to retract the report he had sent to the World Bank, or accept his resignation, which should be unconditional. No other reasons should be included in his written resignation, and now the matter had escalated. He not only wanted to include everything in his resignation but also make both the resignation and the report public.

For the next three hours, the seven individuals in the boardroom tried to persuade him with every argument. They used every tactic at their disposal. When arguments failed, they threatened him with certain clauses in the bank's contract regarding the resignation, warning that he was bound to keep all professional matters confidential and that publicizing his resignation and report could lead to legal action. 

They implied that not only would he face significant financial consequences, but his future career in the World Bank or any related organization under American supervision could be severely damaged. Salar knew this wasn't just a threat; it was a serious threat. They were directly telling him that they could end his professional career, not just at the World Bank but across all international organizations operating under American oversight, and he knew how they could do it.

At the international level at which he was working, even a minor legal dispute could have severely damaged his reputation as an economist and financial analyst. At this global level, any minor legal issue could prevent him from ever being employed again if it involved a breach of confidentiality in his contract. This would be a mark of disgrace that he could never erase. They had also threatened him that the World Bank would conduct a new audit of the projects under his supervision in Congo, and by uncovering financial and other irregularities, they could disgrace him in such a manner that he could be removed from his position. 

Even if he took his report to the media, the allegations and the report would lose their significance because the bank had substantial counterarguments and the media would dismiss his report as just another opinion. This was blackmail of the lowest order, and they were making it clear they could do it.

Salar knew they could indeed do this. His financial and professional integrity had never been questioned within the World Bank, and his professional record was enviable in this regard. But he knew that if the World Bank was determined to find any flaw or fraud in the projects running through his office in Congo, they would find it. 

No one could escape the scrutiny of the World Bank's audit team if they were sent with the specific objective of finding financial irregularities. Under normal circumstances, Salar would never have put himself in such a difficult situation, especially now that he had a family— a wife and young children who depended on him. But these were not normal circumstances.

Petrus Ibaka had left him no room to remain detached from the situation. It was his misfortune. He had started to think emotionally about Africa and the pygmies, and his emotions were now getting the better of him. Resigning quietly from this matter and removing himself from the entire situation meant one thing: it would make him complicit in the crime committed against the pygmies in Congo in the 21st century. 

He would not become a part of the history of those who stopped or protested, but he was not interested in being a part of history; he just wanted to avoid the pangs of guilt that would make him feel like a criminal at some stage in his life.

As the pressure and threats increased, Salar Sikandar's resolve also strengthened. If Sikandar Usman said that in terms of determination, he had no match, he was right. He had already demonstrated his practical resolve in front of the group of people at the World Bank headquarters in Washington, who were capable of turning high-ranking officials like Salar Sikandar into mere pawns with a snap of their fingers.

"What do you want?" Michael finally asked after three hours, as if he was surrendering to Salar's stubbornness. "An independent inquiry team to reassess this project and, based on its findings, either terminate the project in the best interests of the pygmies and the tropical forests or come up with a solution acceptable to the local people, and I'm talking about the local inhabitants, not the local government and its officials."

Salar Sikandar repeated the same demand he had presented in his presentation.

"What's your price?" Alexander asked as if he had not left Salar any room to negotiate. He expected every kind of negotiation at headquarters, but not this specific sentence. "There must be something for which you would relent from your demand. Tell us what it is and we can negotiate."

Salar began to gather his things from the table. "I have no price, and I joined the World Bank under the misconception that I would be working with people renowned for their professional expertise and ability. If I had to work with brokers who are involved in buying, selling, and pricing, I would have worked in the stock exchange or investment banking."

His words struck them like a blow, and the seven individuals felt the sting of his remarks equally. He was effectively calling them brokers and he was right. The people who had sent them to deal with Salar would have paid them commissions in various forms once they had successfully negotiated with Salar. 

They represented the lobbies within the World Bank that, despite appearing to represent different countries and nations, actually protected the interests of major corporate sectors working under their governments.

None of the seven said anything further. With solemn and strained expressions, they began to gather their papers and laptops. The meeting ended without any resolution, and Salar realized that after the discussions in this meeting, his career at the World Bank was also over.

 He knew the meeting had been recorded as every meeting at headquarters was. He anticipated that the meeting would also be presented directly to other places. Before Salar left the boardroom, another strategy to handle him had been devised.

Alexander Rafael followed Salar out of the boardroom and expressed a desire to talk to him privately for a few minutes. Although Salar was initially puzzled, he eventually agreed. What was the issue that could not be discussed in the boardroom but was now being addressed in this one-on-one meeting?

 It was a conversation that went beyond what Salar could have expected from an individual at an esteemed organization like the World Bank. He was not only disheartened but felt utterly broken.

He hadn't joined the World Bank to fulfill such purposes. Salar went to Alexander Rafael's office expecting further discussion, but Rafael's demeanor was surprisingly different in his own office.

"I do not doubt that I am very impressed with your report, and it's not just me—the President is too."

His first sentence surprised Salar. Rafael placed his coffee cup in front of him and then took his seat with his cup. By "President," Rafael meant Ralph Edgar, who was then the President of the World Bank and to whom Rafael was considered to be one of the closest aides, even regarded by many as the President's right hand.

As Rafael settled into his chair, his