CHAPTER SIX — POSH LIES, STREET TRUTH
Morning broke over Lagos like a city that never learned patience. Sunlight reflected off the mirrored towers, bathing the city in gold, but inside the Adekunle mansion, gold meant little. The house was alive with urgency, the hum of whispered calls, the shuffle of papers, and the constant tapping of keyboards.
Chief Solomon Adekunle, the Iron Man, sat at his massive desk. His face was calm, precise, and cold. But behind the eyes, a storm raged. The viral video of his son had become a nationwide symbol — the symbol of privilege unchecked, arrogance amplified, and discipline abandoned.
The Strategy Session
By 8 a.m., his top aides, media consultants, and social media managers were assembled in the conference room. The air smelled faintly of coffee and tension. The room was polished, posh, sterile, yet charged with panic.
"We need to contain this before it explodes further," Chief Solomon said, voice even, eyes scanning the team. "Statements, press releases, online management — everything must be coordinated. And remember: this is not just about Damilare. It is about the family, our administration, and our legacy."
A young media consultant, sharp and ambitious, spoke first. "Sir, we've drafted three statements. First, an apology from the family. Second, an emphasis on discipline and responsibility. Third, highlighting your ongoing charitable and governance work. We can release them sequentially to control narrative."
Chief Solomon nodded. "Good. But also… we must acknowledge the truth without admitting weakness. That is key. Our people must trust that the Iron Man remains unshaken."
"Sir, social media is already reacting," another aide said nervously. "Twitter, Instagram, even TikTok clips are spreading. Memes are popping. It's not just news anymore — it's culture. People are laughing, mocking…"
Chief Solomon leaned back. Calm. Calculating. "Let them laugh. Public perception can be managed. Timing is everything. The first 24 hours are critical. Control that, and you control the story."
Damilare's Isolation
Meanwhile, Damilare was upstairs, in his private lounge. The night's adrenaline had left his veins, replaced by a low, gnawing anxiety. The screens of his phone blinked constantly. Notifications piled up like warnings he could no longer ignore.
"Adekunle junior thinks he can slap police? Na so dem dey raise leaders?"
"Barrack boy problems. Iron Man my foot."
"Someone tell him money no dey replace respect."
Even his friends, the Cabinet Boys, were silent. Influence, he realized, had limits. It could make you bold, make you laugh, make you feel untouchable. But influence could not shield you from a society ready to judge.
He tried calling Seyi, Musty, Deji. No answer. Not a single word. Peer pressure, once the source of fun and hype, now abandoned him when he needed support the most.
And that realization burned hotter than any viral comment.
Public Reaction Escalates
By mid-morning, the press had amplified the story. Newspapers, TV channels, radio stations, and online blogs dissected the video in detail. Every movement, every shout, every gesture analyzed. Headlines screamed judgment:
"Iron Man's Son: A Lesson in Privilege?"
"Barrack Boy Exposed: Lagos Witnesses Untouchable Behavior."
"When Discipline Fails: Adekunle Junior Faces Public Scrutiny."
Social media had already formed the verdict: mockery, outrage, and memes. The hashtag #BarrackBoy trended nationwide. Influencers joined the chorus, highlighting the arrogance and entitlement of the son of a powerful man. Lagos, a city of voices, was angry and amused in equal measure.
Every news outlet demanded comment from Chief Solomon. Every political rival smelled opportunity. The day had become a battlefield of perception, and his son was both the target and the weapon.
Damage Control in Action
Chief Solomon moved like a general in a barrack. Press briefings were arranged. Statements were released, carefully worded to acknowledge wrongdoing without weakening authority:
"The family acknowledges the actions of the young man, which are not condoned and do not reflect the values instilled. Discipline remains central to our household and governance. We trust that learning and responsibility will guide future conduct."
The media consultants coordinated social media posts: photos of Chief Solomon attending charity events, meetings with community leaders, school programs, and governance highlights. Every post carefully chosen to counterbalance the viral chaos.
The public, however, was skeptical. Memes flooded in:
"Iron Man teaches discipline… for everybody except his son."
"Legacy strong, logic weak."
"Name no dey replace sense."
Chief Solomon's team worked tirelessly. They scheduled interviews, sent out talking points to trusted journalists, and carefully edited statements from aides. Every action aimed to frame the narrative, to make the child's misbehavior appear as an isolated incident, not a reflection of the family or leadership.
Damilare Faces Reality
Upstairs, Damilare watched all this unfold, helpless. The screens of his phone were a relentless mirror of his recklessness. Every retweet, every shared video, every comment drove home a single, terrifying truth: his actions had consequences he could not escape.
For the first time, he realized that peer influence was temporary, and privilege was fragile. His friends had cheered him last night, hyped him up, and made him feel invincible. But when real scrutiny arrived, when public judgment and political machinery intervened, they disappeared.
He felt a strange mix of anger and fear — anger at the absence of loyalty, fear at the weight of expectation and consequence. The boy who had laughed freely, untouchable, was suddenly small in a world he had thought belonged to him.
Political Allies Step In
By afternoon, Chief Solomon began calling political allies. Governors, senators, and ministers were briefed privately. The message was precise: control the narrative, manage the backlash, and protect the name.
"This is not just about a child," Chief Solomon told them. "It is about perception. Every citizen, every journalist, every voter is watching. Our response must be measured, posh, and calculated."
The allies nodded. Influence was currency, and the Iron Man had plenty — but even influence had limits. They understood the danger: one viral clip, one poorly worded statement, and the political fallout could spiral beyond control.
"We will assist with media coverage," one governor said. "Highlight charity work, schools, community programs — the people need to see that the Iron Man leads with discipline, even when family falters."
Chief Solomon agreed, but privately, he knew that no spin could erase the embarrassment of a child wielding privilege like a weapon, now exposed to the city.
Damilare Learns Accountability
By evening, the mansion felt heavy. The walls, the polished floors, the expensive furniture — all witnesses to a reality he had ignored. He realized that peer influence and wealth could only shield him so far.
His father, seated across from him, spoke with the authority of someone who had spent decades mastering discipline:
"You have learned the hard way that privilege is not freedom. Influence is not protection. And name alone cannot shield you from consequences. Yesterday, you were untouchable to friends. Today, the world has judged you."
Damilare nodded slowly. Words failed him. Understanding was growing, like a seed planted in hard soil. Peer influence had created arrogance, but consequence was planting humility.
"You will learn," Chief Solomon continued. "Not because I punish you, but because you must face reality. And reality is sharper than any slap, louder than any shout, and unrelenting when it chooses."
The Night Settles
By midnight, the mansion was quiet. Chief Solomon reviewed the day's work with aides. Every press release, every social media post, every interview had been orchestrated. Damage control was underway. Public opinion, though bruised, had been managed.
But upstairs, Damilare lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Social media notifications still blinked like stars he could not reach. The city slept unaware, yet its judgment lingered in his mind. Peer influence had hyped him, wealth had shielded him, and privilege had blinded him. But public scrutiny had revealed the limits of all three.
For the first time, he felt the weight of the name he bore. Not as a weapon, not as armor, but as a responsibility he had failed to honor.
The boy who had laughed at curfew, at law, at consequence — now understood that influence and privilege could not replace judgment, accountability, and respect.
The Iron Man watched silently, knowing that the lesson had begun.
Tomorrow, the city would not forget.
Tomorrow, his son would continue to learn.
And tomorrow, the balance between privilege and responsibility would be tested further.