Days later the ladies (Kolade's victims) and I meet agai, as planned in our last meet. This time we do not meet at some random place, but at Mariam's Law firm.
I sit at the head of the long, oval table in Mariam's office, watching the women lean in as Toyin recounts her conversation with a "consultant" Kolade once introduced her to. The man, slick and silver-tongued, promised her a tenfold return on her investment in just eighteen months. It was laughable in hindsight, but back then when she was grieving her mother and desperate to turn her inheritance into something meaningful it had felt like divine intervention.
Now, Toyin's voice is flat. Resigned. The laughter is gone. But so is the shame.
Across the table, Jumoke jots notes in a slim leather-bound notebook. Every now and then, she glances up with a quiet kind of precision, like she's archiving pain and labeling it for evidence.
Hauwa, seated beside Gloria, occasionally interjects with facts and patterns she's started recognizing names that showed up in multiple emails, voice notes she saved even when she wasn't sure why. Her mind, sharp from years of real estate contracts and negotiations, slices through deception like glass through silk.
We're not just talking anymore. We're connecting the dots.
Mariam opens her laptop and projects a shared folder on the office screen. "These are our working files," she says. "I've separated evidence into three main categories: financial fraud, identity deception, and collusion. Everything you share goes here. Secure, encrypted, private."
I nod. "We can meet weekly. In person, whenever possible. Otherwise, we check in virtually."
"Should we pick a name?" Toyin asks suddenly, sipping her zobo through a plastic straw. "For our group. Something that sounds less like a crime scene and more like… a movement."
There's a beat of silence before Jumoke whispers, "The Phoenix Room."
Hauwa's brow lifts. "Why that?"
"Because we burned," she says softly, "but we're rising."
A slow hush falls over the room. My chest tightens.
"Yes," I say. "The Phoenix Room."
We vote unanimously and Mariam adds it to the top of the shared folder:
THE PHOENIX ROOM – Confidential
Something changes after that. The air shifts. We're not just women who were fooled. We're women who are fighting back.
+++
Later that evening, we gather in my living room, more casual this time. No laptops. Just laughter, candles, and steaming plates of Jollof rice and grilled plantains I had delivered from a local kitchen run by a widow I've recently started supporting.
Gloria's legs are tucked beneath her as she sips chapman and listens to Hauwa recount a harrowing property scam she once narrowly escaped in Port Harcourt unrelated to Kolade, but eerily similar in tone. "These people know exactly who to target," she says. "They read your ambition like a script."
Jumoke nods. "And they're always charming. Always patient. They groom your trust."
I sit back and study them. In different rooms, with different dresses, I might never have met them. But here we are braided together by betrayal, bonded by the sheer audacity of what was done to us.
I'm not the only one who sees it. Mariam leans toward me and whispers, "We should document this process. Not for court just for us. A journal. A voice recorder. Something."
I smile. "I already started one."
She grins. "Of course you did."
+++
As the night deepens, the women begin to leave one by one, hugging longer than expected, promising to return soon. Jumoke's hug is soft but lingering. Hauwa whispers, "Thank you," and I know it's not just for the food. Toyin grins and says, "Phoenix forever," with a wink.
Only Gloria stays behind. She gathers the used plates, loads the dishwasher, and refills my glass without a word.
When we finally sit again, I turn to her.
"You okay?"
She hesitates. "Better than I've been in weeks. You?"
I think for a moment. "Not whole. But no longer hollow."
She nods, then pulls something from her tote a folded flyer.
"What's this?"
"I printed it from a group chat. There's a Women in Tech conference in Abuja next month. Some of the sessions are on cybersecurity, fraud prevention, and digital forensics."
My eyebrows rise. "Thinking of going?"
"I thought we all could," she says. "If we register as a collective, we might even get a speaking slot. Imagine telling our story carefully and helping other women spot the signs early."
My pulse quickens. "That's bold."
"That's the new standard," she says.
I don't know how we got here from broken to brave but I know this: the alliance is no longer a secret. It's becoming a seed.
And we're about to plant it everywhere.