Gordon was half persuaded.

“I don’t think we can let this go,” Cas added. “And whatever the outcome, when you get back to the States, we’re going to document the whole thing.”

“That’s what this is about, Cas? So you can get a piece in the Post?”

“The way I see it is a coauthorship. You’ve got the raw material and I’m going to shape it to produce a riveting piece. Preferably in two parts.”

“I’ll give it some thought. Derek’s going to have an issue with it, though. He’s not going to see why I should turn into Kurt Wallander.”

“All you’re going to tell him is that you’ve decided to make the best of it and take a vacation in Ghana. Nothing wrong with that. And I’m certainly not going to tell him about my idea. I’d like to stay on his good side.”

Gordon smiled. “As you should.”

After they ended the conversation, Cas sent him the link he had mentioned. Gordon found one YouTube video after another featuring Sana Sana, whose exposés were sponsored by BBC News. From there, Gordon spent almost two hours reading horror stories from people all over the world who had been scammed of their money through various ruses out of Ghana. The more Gordon saw, the angrier he became. Like all those other chumps, he’d been well and truly hoodwinked. He sat back and thought about Cas’s declaration that Gordon had one hell of a golden opportunity to nail this shit. He was beginning to see Cas’s point of view.

In the morning, Gordon realized he had slept peacefully through the night for the first time since arriving in Ghana. He knew why, too. Before going to bed, he had decided to go along with Cas’s idea. Whereas before he had been demoralized, now he felt empowered, and that had put his mind unexpectedly at ease. Slipping into one of Kempinski’s complimentary dressing gowns, Gordon sat at the desk and sent a short message to Cas: Okay, it’s on. I’ll take the “vacation.”

But to Derek, Gordon had to write something diplomatic and much more explanatory.

Hi, Derek—this will no doubt come as something of a surprise, but thinking over my situation, I’ve decided to make lemonade out of lemons, as it were. Yes, I was conned, but it’s water under the bridge at this point. I’m here now, and there’s no real reason why I shouldn’t at least try to enjoy myself and stay out the rest of the time I’d previously scheduled. Especially since I’ll likely forfeit the return portion on my ticket if I change the date—I’ll basically be buying a new one-way ticket—and why should I have to do that? Of course I’m mad with whoever did this to me, but it doesn’t mean I have to hate the whole country of Ghana and everyone in it. Hope you understand, son. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.

Thanks.

PART TWO

TWENTY-THREE

April 3, Atimpoku, Ghana

They had told Kafui it would be brutal. Mama, Auntie Mary, Cousin Gladys—all of them had warned Kafui the first three months would be hell with Yao, the new baby. “He’ll cry all night,” they said.