The models—sixteen in total—began to roll in at seven-thirty. Samson and a freelance helper Araba had hired for the day were going over the order of their appearances on the catwalk. The theme of the show this year was “We Two,” a play on #MeToo to expose rampant but deeply buried sexual assault within the fashion industry. No one in this supposedly glamorous world liked discussing such a distasteful subject, choosing to pretend it didn’t exist at all, but Lady Araba was dedicated to facing it down. Now that her eponymous line of women’s clothing was gaining fame throughout West Africa, she intended to become an activist and influencer.

For this session, the models were to walk on in pairs—hence, “We Two”—to the end of the runway and return along each edges of the runway as stirring music blasted. Samson had the sequence in his mind, but as he got the women to do the first run-through, something just didn’t look right, and he needed Araba. So did everyone else. She was the glue that held it all together. Her authority, her instincts, and her knowledge had a calming effect during the frantic preparation and inevitable last-minute emergencies before a show.

Now it was getting on to eight o’clock. Where was she? She ought to have arrived by now. The models were starting to have their makeup applied, and there would be last-minute fittings and alterations to their outfits—a button here, a slight hitch-up of a hem there. Araba was always present for that. She simply had to be.

Samson called her, and when she didn’t pick up, he texted her. Fifteen minutes later, still without a response, he phoned Lady’s brother, Oko, who had become a friend over the years.

“Hey, Samson,” Oko said, picking up right away. “Wassup, bruh?”

“Chaley, have you heard from your sister?”

“We spoke yesterday, why?”

“She hasn’t come in this morning to prepare for the show,” Samson said, sounding frantic. “She’s normally here long before now. I’ve tried calling and texting her, but she’s not answering.”

“Let me try her,” Oko said.

“If you reach her, tell her to call me as soon as she can, please. We still have a lot to do here.”

Oko, a prominent chemistry and physics professor, had been on his way to his first lecture at the University of Ghana and had almost reached the campus. Like Samson, he tried calling and texting his sister several times to no avail, so he tried his father, Reverend Tagoe, who was about to join a meeting at St. Anthony’s Anglican Church.

“She’s not answering her phone,” Oko explained to him. “Neither text nor call, and Samson is getting desperate at the show because she should be there by now.”

“I can go to Trosacco to see if she’s there,” Tagoe said. “Maybe she overslept or something.”