As a kid, Julius had enjoyed the spectacle. Crowds in their best clothes carrying fancy Bibles with leather bindings and gold clasps. The services were kept short and loud, and he’d lapped up the attention that came with being the son of the founder.

Now, Julius was a teen cynic, who’d rather spend Sunday morning in bed than in a suit and tie. He thought the congregation were fools, dazzled by whiz-bang as they sang and shouted, before queuing up to pour hard-earned wages into his mother’s pockets.

‘Today we are truly honoured,’ Preacher Pepple shouted from the circular stage as drums rolled and spotlights pulsed on all sides.

‘Honoured!’ four thousand people shouted back.

‘The founder will speak briefly, in person!’

Julius was high up, in a ring of seats reserved for VIPs and the Church’s biggest donors. Gabe glanced up from his phone as lights strobed and a fake thunderclap boomed around The Cross. The crowd were on their feet, cheering as Bunmi Adebisi stepped between the lights. Tiny on the stage, but vast on the circle of six video screens above it.

‘Are we happy today?’ Bunmi shouted, breaking into a huge, gawping smile.

The crowd roared in agreement.

‘Are our tomorrows bright, because of the love God shares with us all?’

Nobody in the crowd disagreed, but Julius hated the power of the person who stood between himself and Duke.

‘Yesterday people from this church were treated with brutality in the precinct,’ Bunmi said seriously, then paused for the hissing and tuts that rustled through the crowd. ‘There was rioting and disorder through the whole of Akure.

‘Last night, I visited my beloved brother, our state governor, SJ Adebisi. A man I love with all my heart. A man who has done so many things of which I am proud. I want you to know that he is not scared by these weak-minded troublemakers. The culprits will be found and punished under the eye of God and I ask you to pray for decent elections over all of Nigeria in the months ahead.

‘Now I call this service to a close, and wish peace, health and prosperity to you all. Amen!’

‘Amen!’ the crowd shouted back, before erupting with applause.

The lights in The Cross came up and Julius watched the crowd split. Most pouring to the exits via strategically placed donation boxes, while a sizeable minority queued at folding tables. Some tables sold books and charms, but the biggest queue was of tween girls, who wanted the handsome and hunky members of The Cross’s house band to scrawl signatures on glossy pics and phone cases.

The twins had wangled their way out of church, so the bodyguards just had Julius and Gabe to marshal from the arena. Rather than fight the crowd, the brothers were led through a private door and down several flights of carpeted steps.