They did. Still nothing.
Next came German experts, men who built some of the finest engines in the world. They dismantled engines piece by piece, replaced parts, ran endless tests, and rebuilt everything.
The problem got worse.
One test flight nearly ended in disaster when an engine began smoking midair.
“Mr. Richard,” the German lead engineer admitted, humiliated, “we have never seen anything like this. By every measurement, the engine should be functioning correctly.”
Richard nearly exploded.
Then he called the Japanese.
They were supposed to be the best of the best. They brought special cameras, highly specialized software, and diagnostic systems worth fortunes.
Richard paid them 1.2 billion naira.
They worked day and night for three months.
Still, the planes kept failing.
At last, their chief engineer bowed his head.
“We are sorry. We have used every method available to us. We still cannot find the fault.”
Richard was too exhausted even to shout.
Three billion naira.
No solution.
At night his wife, Victoria, would wake to find him alone in his study, staring at aircraft diagrams and maintenance reports.
“You need to sleep,” she would say softly.
“I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see my company dying.”
“Maybe we should sell it,” she suggested one night. “We still have enough to live well.”
“Never,” Richard snapped. “I built this company from one plane. I gave it twenty years of my life. If I lose this company, I lose everything.”
But inside, he was afraid.
Truly afraid.
On the other side of Abuja, beneath a dirty bridge near the airport, Grace was trying to sleep.
She was twenty-eight, though hardship made her look older. Her clothes were torn. Her hair was rough and unkempt. She had not eaten properly in three days.
Her stomach twisted with hunger.
She slept on flattened cardboard and owned only three things: a broken bag, one extra shirt, and a small photo of her father.
Every night she would study that photo.
Her father, Papa Johnson, smiling with a wrench in his hand in front of his tiny repair shop.
“Papa,” she would whisper, “I’m trying to be strong like you taught me. But it’s hard.”
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