The betting shop was now crowded. Men who had come to buy recharge cards stopped to stare at the screen. A drunk named Pastor (not a real pastor, but a man who shouted prophecies at traffic lights) began to chant.
4-1. A three-goal margin.
But Emmanuel wasn't thinking about math. He was thinking about revenge. a boy that won 43 million on bet9ja
By now, Comfort had called her manager. The manager had called Bet9ja’s regional risk officer. A flag was raised. Somewhere in a glass office in Ikeja, a data analyst watched Emmanuel’s slip populate on a dashboard. Possible anomaly , he typed. User ID: Eman4Christ. The betting shop was now crowded