Dollars Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

At about 4:11 PM on this Friday afternoon, the town was calm with a slight darkness mixed with a cool, pleasant breeze because thick clouds covered the sky.
At that moment, four luxurious cars approached the Kabuga neighborhood in a flashy manner. Anyone who saw them could not help but look again because of how elegant they were. Their arrival immediately drew the attention of the residents of the area.
They drove straight and stopped in front of the gate of a huge, luxurious mansion that occupied almost an entire section of the neighborhood. Above the gate, written in large black letters, were the words:
“BUGAJA’S HOUSE.”
About twenty-four security guards were standing from the entrance of the gate into the compound and also around the long building that decorated the house’s structure.
The car horns were being pressed repeatedly without hesitation.
Meanwhile, five journalists—three men and two women—were standing nearby, apparently waiting to see someone.
The journalists focused their attention on the white tinted car that was in the middle of the convoy. But before they could say anything, the driver drove straight inside the compound. The other two cars behind it followed.
This confirmed to the journalists that the person they wanted to see would not stop to speak with them.
About three minutes later, the cars finished parking. Soon, bodyguards from the three cars stepped out and surrounded the white car. The back door was opened.
For about five seconds, nothing happened—then slowly a pair of long legs wearing chukka boots appeared from the car. Immediately, a refreshing fragrance of perfume filled the area.
He stepped out wearing blue jeans and a red T-shirt that perfectly revealed the strong shape of his body—a well-built and powerful man. He wore a baseball cap that covered his forehead and his soft hair.
His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses.
The clothes suited his smooth, fair skin, which shone and easily attracted attention. His perfume carried a captivating scent that could calm anyone who inhaled it.
His red lips were tightly pressed together. Only his long nose and rounded jawline could clearly be seen.
One of his hands held two phones, while the other held a smaller phone close to his ear. He was speaking quietly, so no one could hear what he was saying.
He spoke calmly, almost as if he did not want anyone to overhear.
This was Dollars Bugaje—a young man full of life. A wealthy and influential figure, handsome, proud, and admired by many high-class women who openly showed their affection for him.
Even his way of walking was impressive—slow, calm, and confident, never hurried.
After stepping out of the car, he inhaled the cool air and exhaled deeply. Then he headed directly toward his father’s section of the house, signaling his bodyguards that he did not need them to follow.
He removed the phone from his ear and continued walking, wondering why Suruj wanted him to stop and speak with journalists.
To him, any good deed he does for people is done for the sake of Allah, not so that others will see it.
In his view, doing something just so people will notice and praise you is meaningless.