Adebayo smiled to himself. Business was good and life was good. He lived in a large house in the best street in Ilford. He could have moved to a better area, but this was his home, where he was known and respected by all. He owned other properties in the area that he rented out and he also owned a large house in the prosperous area of Lagos. He felt like the King of Ilford.

A knock at the door jolted him from his daydream: his brother, as always slightly deferential.

‘Brother, that fool Rizwan Khan is here to see you, shouting nonsense about the Home Office refusing his claim,’ said Emmanuel. ‘He’s getting quite stroppy in reception and threatening to expose us and call the police. What shall I do?’

Adebayo considered for a moment. ‘He is from Karachi, no?’

‘I think so.’

‘Tell him I will see him in one hour and refund his money.’

His brother nodded and left the office. A cold, hard fury gripped Adebayo. Who the fuck did that bastard think he was, threatening him? He remembered Rizwan Khan’s application well: a sham marriage to a Hungarian girl supplied by a trafficking gang. She was a very pretty little thing, who he had fucked in his office. A perk of the job. He smiled at the memory; the girl did whatever her traffickers told her, she was so frightened: a vulnerability that just excited him even more.

He dug the man’s file out of the teak cabinet and picked up the phone. He knew just the person to call to get the job done.

An hour later there was another knock at the door and his brother entered once again, this time accompanied by a small, wiry Pakistani man dressed in tracksuit trousers and a threadbare sweater, leather sandals on his sockless feet. His hair was fashioned into a greasy side-parting and he wore a scraggly beard with no moustache.

‘Yes, Rizwan Khan, what can I do for you?’ said Adebayo, his voice slightly condescending.

‘Mr Adebayo-Sab,’ the man said, nervously using the respectful suffix. ‘My case has been refused; the Home Office say my paperwork is false and I must leave. They have been looking for me. I cannot go to Pakistan, and I owe the moneylenders for the money I paid you for my application. I must stay to send money home to my family.’ Flecks of spittle flew from his mouth as he stuttered.

‘How is your situation my fault, my friend? Why do you threaten me, after all I’ve done for you?’ Adebayo’s voice was even, his eyes locked on Khan.