Ifeoma was like that.

The board looked at her and saw something finished, a spent thing, a dying heiress to be quietly disconnected.

Obadiah had built his entire strategy on the premise that she was already gone.

But Emeka had sat with her through the fevers and the failures of her body, had seen her at the absolute floor of it, turned to a wall so he wouldn’t see her hair — and even there, even scraped down to almost nothing, there was current in her.

You could feel it in the room.

It was in the way she wept from exhaustion and then, hours later, walked into a boardroom unbeatable.