CAUGHT IN CUT

CAUGHT IN CUT

CHAPTER ONE

A Man Named Badmus

The morning sun cast long shadows across the office car park, warming the concrete and wrapping the lot in a calm stillness broken only by the occasional honk, footsteps, and murmurs of departing workers.

Today was no ordinary day.

Some stories begin with fireworks. Others with whispers. This one—this story—begins with a man named Mr. Badmus. His choices, like those of many men, mirrored the crossroads we all face—where integrity meets temptation, and duty meets personal need.

If you read with full attention, you might hear the whispers of your own conscience.

Scene: The Car Park

The soft chirp of a car unlocking echoed through the open space. Mr. Badmus adjusted his tie and walked with purposeful strides toward his vehicle. His thoughts were already on tomorrow’s board meeting when a voice called out behind him.

“Badmus! Wait a minute!”

He turned, mildly surprised, and raised his brow as he recognized the approaching figure. “Gbade? What a surprise. So you mean you’ve been in this office since morning and didn’t bother to show face?”

Gbade jogged the remaining distance, slightly out of breath. He laughed, half-apologetic. “My guy, no vex. As I resumed today, I had so much on my plate. I only just got a breather and went to your office. Your PA told me you were heading to the car park, so I ran down.”

Badmus chuckled lightly. “That serious? Anyway, how’s the family?”

“We’re okay. We can’t complain,” Gbade replied with a shrug and a trace of weariness in his voice.

Badmus gave a knowing look. “You and your sarcasm… Alright then, what brings you here?”

There was a pause. Gbade’s smile faded, replaced by an expression of quiet desperation. “Ah, Badmus… I’m in a tight spot. I need your help. Things are rough right now, my friend. I need a serious loan.”

Badmus’s face grew still. “How serious are we talking, Gbade?”

Gbade looked him squarely in the eye. “Millions, Badmus. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t urgent. My family… we’re drowning in debt. I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t know where else to turn.”

Badmus inhaled deeply. “Gbade, I understand your plight. But I truly can’t help you with that kind of money. My hands are tied.”

Gbade blinked, stunned. “Ah! Badmus? You?”

Badmus raised a brow. “I don’t understand what you mean by that.”

Gbade shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Badmus, stop it jor.”

“What?”

“No whyne your guy na,” Gbade insisted.

Badmus’s tone grew firmer. “How am I doing that?”

“You’re the Sales Procurement Officer in this company. Don’t tell me you don’t have!”

“I said I don’t have, Gbade. That’s all there is to it. My position doesn’t mean I have millions lying around.”

Gbade threw up his hands. “Haba! Stop it. How can you say your position doesn’t mean you have money? A whole you!”

“A whole me?” Badmus asked, voice tinged with irritation. “How?”

“Sales Procurement Officer!” Gbade repeated, as though that title alone held the weight of a bank vault.

“So?” Badmus challenged.

“Badmus, stop the play. Please help me.”

Badmus’s eyes narrowed. “Ha ah! I’m getting confused. Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

Gbade didn’t back down. “Do you believe yourself, my guy?”

“Ha ah!”

“Look,” Gbade said, softening his tone slightly. “You mean to say you don’t have the money to borrow me—not that you don’t have money at all.”

Badmus stared at him in silence, then simply said, “Gbade.”

“Yes?”

“Gbade.”

“Yes, my guy?”

“You’ll have to look elsewhere for help.”

Gbade stepped back slightly, disbelief and frustration clouding his features. He scoffed. “Elsewhere? Badmus, you’re sitting on opportunities, and you’re telling me you can’t help? Just think about it…”

There was a long pause. Badmus glanced at his watch, then turned toward his assistant who had just approached.

“Hey, you,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” the PA responded quickly.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go.”

“Alright, sir.”

Without another glance at Gbade, Mr. Badmus opened the car door, entered, and shut it behind him. The engine purred to life, and moments later, the car pulled out of the lot.

Gbade stood alone, the soft rumble of the departing vehicle fading behind him.

He muttered under his breath, eyes lingering on the path the car had taken.
“Hmmm… Badmus… Is it possible that this guy really doesn’t have?”

The silence answered him.
And the day rolled on.

CHAPTER TWO

The Quiet Within

The gentle clinking of china and the rhythmic shuffle of movement in the kitchen created a comforting backdrop to the early evening. Warm light spilled through the dining room window, casting soft shadows on the walls. The scent of fried plantains and simmering stew lingered in the air—a familiar embrace after a long day.

Racheal Badmus moved with graceful efficiency, humming quietly as she poured hot tea into a ceramic mug. She glanced over her shoulder at her husband, seated at the edge of the dining table, still dressed in his office shirt and tie, staring at nothing in particular.

“Badmus,” she called cheerfully, “dinner is almost ready. Would you like some tea to hold you over?”

He didn’t look up. “No, I’m fine, Racheal. Thanks.”

She paused, eyeing him more carefully now. There was a weight in his voice—one that hadn’t been there the night before.

“You’ve been quiet since you came home,” she said, setting the teapot gently on a tray. “What’s on your mind?”

Badmus exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair. His eyes, usually sharp and steady, looked clouded.

“It’s Gbade,” he said finally. “He came to me at the office today… asking for a huge sum of money.”

Racheal raised an eyebrow as she brought the tea tray over. “A huge sum?”

He nodded. “When I told him I couldn’t help, he looked… shocked. Almost offended.”

She handed him a napkin but didn’t press. “Surprised? Why would he be surprised you said no?”

Badmus shook his head slowly. “He seems to think that because I’m the Sales Procurement Officer, I have piles of money lying around. Like the title itself is a vault.” He scoffed slightly, then fell quiet again.

Racheal sat beside him, her expression softening. “That’s strange. Did he say anything else?”

“Not directly,” Badmus replied, voice low. “But… there was something in his tone. Something unspoken. Like he knew something I didn’t. And that—” he paused, pressing his thumb against his temple, “—that’s what’s been bothering me.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the light ticking of the wall clock and the distant bubbling from the stove.

Then Racheal placed her hand gently over his.

“Badmus, listen to me. People often see opportunities where they shouldn’t. And when they think you’re sitting on something they can’t touch, they begin to project. It doesn’t mean they’re right.”

He turned his hand over and held hers.

“Be cautious, my love. Whatever Gbade meant, don’t let it sway you. Don’t let anyone’s assumptions pressure you into compromising what you stand for. Remember who you are—and whose you are. Keep raising the banner of God in your workplace. That’s what truly matters.”

Badmus’s shoulders relaxed slightly. He nodded.

“You’re right, Racheal. You’re always right. Thank you.”

She smiled, leaning in to embrace him. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his head against her shoulder. For a brief moment, the tension of the day slipped away.

And in the warmth of their quiet home, faith remained the anchor.

Soft laughter floated through the room as they held each other, and somewhere in the background, a new day began to unfold—one that would test every word they’d just spoken.

CHAPTER THREE

The Proposal

The low hum of the office pulsed steadily in the background—keyboards clicking in rhythm, phones ringing in brief bursts, and distant conversations weaving through partitioned walls like a muted symphony of corporate routine. The sun filtered through the blinds of Mr. Badmus’s office, casting striped patterns across his desk.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Come in,” Badmus called, barely glancing up from the file in his hand.

The door creaked open, and Gbade stepped in with a casual grin. “Badmus! You called for me?”

Badmus closed the file and gestured to the seat across from him. “Yes, Gbade. We need to talk.”

Gbade lowered himself into the chair, relaxed. “Okay, shoot. I’m here.”

Badmus studied him for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. “About what you said yesterday… I’ve been thinking about it. What exactly did you mean?”

Gbade blinked, then chuckled. “Ah, Badmus. I thought you understood me.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be calling you into my office,” Badmus said evenly.

Gbade leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the desk. “Wait—are you seriously saying you don’t have the money to lend me?”

Badmus’s expression remained unreadable. “I hope you believe me now.”

Gbade leaned back, laughing softly. “Ha.”

“What is it now?” Badmus asked, voice calm but firm.

Gbade looked at him like a man offering an open secret. “Badmus, you’re in a prime position, my friend. You’re the Sales Procurement Officer. You decide who gets contracts. You know how much people are willing to give just to win a bid?”

Badmus raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And what’s your point?”

“My point,” Gbade said, lowering his voice slightly as if sharing sacred knowledge, “is that contractors are eager to share a piece of their profit if you help them secure the job. Just introduce them to the right people, speed things up, bend a few procedures. It’s the easiest money you’ll ever make.”

Badmus leaned back in his chair, skeptical. “And you think I should get involved in something like that?”

“Why not?” Gbade shrugged. “Everyone’s doing it. Why should you be the only clean one in a dirty system? You’re sitting on a goldmine, Badmus.”

Badmus repeated the word slowly, as if tasting it. “Goldmine.”

“Yes, my guy,” Gbade said, nodding eagerly. “The real money isn’t in your salary. It’s in the favours. The connections. The deals under the table.”

Badmus let out a low laugh. “But I’m not mining.”

“Exactly!” Gbade exclaimed, slapping the desk lightly. “Your head is there, my guy. At least you’re starting to see it.”

There was a long pause. Badmus tilted his head, studying Gbade like a man trying to see through smoke.

“Thanks for the insight,” he said dryly.

“Honestly,” Gbade said, smiling, “you amaze me sometimes. Always trying to play clean in a game that’s rigged.”

“Gbade,” Badmus said, his tone unreadable.

“My guy?”

“I’m amazed too—that I’ve been sitting on a goldmine all this time, and I didn’t even know I was supposed to be mining.”

“Now you know,” Gbade said, with a wink. “So think about it. Don’t forget your guy when the money starts flowing o.”

Badmus let out a quiet chuckle. “Definitely.”

They both laughed, the sound light but layered with unspoken tension.

As Gbade stood to leave and the door clicked shut behind him, Badmus leaned back again, eyes narrowing as he stared out the window.

Outside, the world looked ordinary. But inside, something had shifted.

And the goldmine waited.

CHAPTER FOUR

A Blessing or a Test

The evening was calm. The soft hum of the television echoed in the living room, mixing with the faint sound of a drama series playing in the background. Golden light from the table lamp washed over the room, casting a cozy glow across the walls. Racheal was curled up on the couch, a cup of tea in her hand, her eyes twinkling as she turned toward her husband.

“God has been so good to us, Badmus,” she said with a peaceful sigh. “We’ve been able to achieve so much lately.”

Badmus, lounging across from her with a playful grin, raised his brows. “Yea, don’t you know the man you married?” he teased. “I told you I’d take good care of you.”

Racheal chuckled, shaking her head in mock admiration. “Hmm, thank you for being faithful to your words.”

“You’re welcome, my dear,” he replied, lifting his cup in a mock toast.

There was a short pause as Racheal’s gaze softened, filled with gratitude. Then, with a touch of curiosity, she asked, “You’ve been earning more, haven’t you?”

Badmus hesitated only briefly before answering. “Yes, things have improved… That’s what happens when a man fulfills his role in the home. When you’re committed to taking good care of your wife, God will have no choice but to bless you.”

“Good,” she said warmly, setting her cup down on the table. “And God will bless you more and more—in Jesus’ name.”

“Amen ooo,” he responded, smiling faintly.

Then her tone shifted—gentle, but sincere. “Babe… Can I ask you a question?”

“Why not?” he said, adjusting slightly in his seat.

She looked him in the eye.

“You’re not taking bribes, right?”

The air changed.

Badmus cleared his throat and reached for his cup again, though he didn’t drink from it. “No, of course not.” His voice was steady, but his eyes flickered for the briefest moment.

Racheal smiled, seemingly reassured. “Good. See? God is faithful. Because everything we have comes from Him. There’s no need for shortcuts. I’m so proud of you, Badmus.”

He forced a small laugh. “Even me, I think I should be proud of myself.”

“Yes, be proud of yourself,” she said. “You’ve done well.”

Badmus looked at her and nodded. “Thank you, my wife. All glory be to the Lord—for only Him has done this.”

“In fact, my husband, it’s true,” she said passionately. “God has done this great thing. All the glory must really be to Him. This is the kind of testimony people like Mr. Gbade need to hear. Maybe it will change his perspective for good.”

She began to sing gently, her voice lifting in pure worship:

“All the glory must be to the Lord,
For He is worthy of our praise,
No man on earth should give glory to himself,
All the glory must be to the Lord…”

Badmus joined in, their voices harmonizing in a serene moment of shared faith and gratitude.

When the song ended, Racheal beamed. “That is my husband.”

Badmus chuckled, raising his hands in playful pride. “Na me be that—no other person.”

“Yes o, my one and only,” she said, reaching out to take his hand.

They sat like that for a while—hands intertwined, surrounded by warmth, peace, and the assurance of a season that seemed to be filled with answered prayers.

But as the laughter faded and the singing settled, a quiet tension lingered just beneath the surface. The soft music from the television dissolved into silence, and in its place came a subtle shift—a darker undertone, like the first distant rumble of thunder on a clear day.

And in the silence, one could almost hear it: the quiet question lingering in the heart of a man who had begun to walk a line his conscience had once vowed never to cross.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Room He Should Never Have Opened

The heavy steel door creaked open with a mournful groan, followed by the sharp echo of footsteps against concrete. The atmosphere was cold, sterile, and unforgiving. The air inside the station was thick with subdued murmurs and the quiet shuffle of police personnel going about their business.

Racheal stepped into the holding area, her breath shallow, eyes scanning anxiously—until they found him.

“Oh my God, Badmus!” she cried, rushing toward the barred bench where her husband sat, looking smaller than she had ever seen him.

Badmus raised his head slowly. His eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders slumped under the weight of shame. “Hmmm,” was all he could manage at first.

“What is going on? What happened?” Her voice was panicked, cracking with emotion.

He looked at her, then away. “My wife… I am so sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Why are you here?” She couldn’t understand. This wasn’t the man who left for work each day with his Bible in his hand and prayer on his lips.

“I messed up. Big time.”

“Messed up? What did you do, Badmus?” Her eyes searched his face, desperate for clarity.

“Please… just forgive me.” He couldn’t meet her gaze.

“Forgive you? Talk to me! I’m struggling to breathe, to think. From the moment I got the call, I couldn’t focus. My husband—” her voice quivered, “what are you doing in police custody?”

Badmus exhaled heavily and bowed his head. “It’s Gbade. He convinced me to start taking cuts from contractors.”

Racheal recoiled. “It’s a lie!” Her voice broke.

“It’s true.”

“Ha! My God…” Her knees buckled slightly, and she leaned on the edge of the bench for support.

“It started small,” he said quietly, “but it grew so quickly… I thought I had control.”

“Since when?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Over four months now.”

Racheal stared at him in disbelief. “Four months? My husband… I asked you! I looked you in the eyes and asked you if you were taking bribes—and you said no.”

“That’s why I’m begging for your forgiveness,” he replied, his voice shaking. “I was ashamed. I thought I could manage it. I thought it was just a means to… provide more.”

“And now? What happened?”

Badmus hesitated before speaking, his voice hollow. “A contract worth seventy million naira was awarded to Gbade. He disappeared. And now… the police have traced it all back to me.”

Racheal gasped, her voice breaking completely. “Why, Badmus? Why did you let this happen? Have I ever pressured you? Have I ever made you feel like what you brought home wasn’t enough?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head miserably.

“Then why? Why did you give the devil a chance? Why did you throw away everything we’ve built?” Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought we were building on a foundation of faith. You deceived me. Now we are sinking. I asked you… I asked you… and you said it was God who had done it—you said ‘all the glory be to the Lord.’ Was this glory to God, Badmus? Or were you just ashamed to tell me the truth?”

“Ha, babe… I am sorry. What do we do now?” His voice was almost a whisper, full of desperation.

“I don’t know,” she said through clenched teeth. “We should have stayed in our average lane and trusted God to help us. Why did you do this?”

Badmus buried his face in his hands. “I thought… I thought I was being smart. The opportunity was there—right within the power of my office.”

“And you forgot how we prayed and fasted before that promotion? You forgot how we pleaded with God?”

“Ha! My God… I am sorry.”

Racheal’s face was streaked with tears. “Maybe the delay we had in getting that promotion was God’s mercy—maybe He was shielding us. Perhaps He shouldn’t have answered us after all.”

Badmus groaned. “Jesus! I let Gbade lure me into this. I hardened my heart. I even gave a contract to a staff member in the same company—just to cover my tracks. What a terrible mistake. And now, Gbade is gone. Vanished. Left me to carry the shame alone.”

Racheal collapsed onto the seat beside him, sobbing uncontrollably. “Ha, my God help me. This is too much for me…”

The room was silent, save for the quiet echo of her wailing.

Dear readers, the story of Mr. Badmus is not far from us—it is, in fact, a mirror. A reflection of what happens around us every day.

Let us learn a vital lesson: Do not give room to the devil.

The Bible warns in Ephesians 4:27, “Do not give the devil a foothold.” A small compromise in your integrity can spiral into devastating consequences. Proverbs 10:22 reminds us, “The blessing of the Lord brings wealth, without painful toil for it.” What God provides is pure. It brings no shame, no sorrow.

Yes, the desire to climb the financial ladder is real. So are unpaid bills, the burden of debts, and the fear of failure. These pressures can make shortcuts look like God’s delayed promises. But shortcuts built on sin are not solutions—they’re snares. The devil’s way is always baited: it appears promising but ends in ruin.

Proverbs 14:12 warns, “There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end it leads to death.”

Depression is real. Financial pressure is real. But compromise is not the answer. God’s faithfulness never fails. The enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy. Every offer he makes is a trap.

Don’t give him a room—because once he enters, he will take the whole house.

Instead, choose the narrow path. Hold tightly to your integrity, no matter the cost. God’s process is slow sometimes, but it is sure. His provision may seem delayed, but it is never too late. And when He blesses, it comes with peace—not shame.

Dear friends, I say again: Do not give the devil a room.

Choose God. Choose integrity. Choose life.

THE END

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