Chapter 13 - THE MAN BEHIND THE SIGNATURESElias Venter.
I repeated the name silently as I drove back to my apartment with Mara.
I didn't remember him.
Not his face.
Not his voice.
Not a single conversation.
Yet his name seemed to be attached to every important document in the investigation.
It was almost impressive.
The more ordinary the paperwork looked, the more power it concealed.
“He's been with the company for years,” Mara explained. “Before your accident, you told me Jason trusted him completely.”
“Did I trust him?”
“No.”
I smiled without humor.
“Apparently, the old me had excellent instincts.”
Mara looked at me.
“You also had proof. We just haven't found all of it.”
I leaned against the window.
“Sometimes I wonder whether I'll ever remember enough to explain what I knew.”
“You don't need to remember every detail to be useful, Ndoni. Documents, witnesses, and independent evidence matter. Your memories can help, but the whole case shouldn't rest on them.”
I considered that.
Since the accident, everyone had treated my missing memories as the most important thing about me.
But perhaps the evidence I collected before the crash could speak even when I couldn't.
That evening, Bhejane finally came to see me.
He arrived wearing jeans, a dark jacket, and the tired expression of a man who hadn't slept properly in weeks.
When I opened the door, he looked at me for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
“There's my troublemaker.”
I laughed unexpectedly.
“Apparently, I've been causing everyone problems.”
He stepped inside.
“You've been causing the right people problems.”
For a moment, we simply looked at each other.
Then I hugged him.
He held me carefully.
I felt him exhale.
“You scared me,” he whispered.
I stepped back.
“You disappeared.”
“I know.”
“That wasn't particularly comforting.”
He nodded.
“I deserve that.”
We sat at the kitchen table.
I made tea while he explained what he'd been doing.
After the crash, someone had threatened his mother.
He'd moved her temporarily to stay with relatives.
Then he'd begun collecting copies of records from people who had worked around the Eastbank project.
He'd been afraid that if he returned openly, the people responsible would destroy whatever remained.
“Why didn't you go straight to the police?” I asked.
He looked ashamed.
“I should have. I convinced myself I needed more evidence first.”
“That sounds familiar.”
He glanced at me.
“Jason?”
I nodded.
“Apparently, men in your family have a habit of making terrible decisions because they think they know what's best.”
Bhejane laughed sadly.
“We do.”
I studied him.
“Did you know Elias Venter?”
His expression changed.
“Yes.”
“Was he involved?”
“I believe he was directing the financial side of it.”
“Did you tell Jason?”
“I tried.”
My pulse quickened.
“What happened?”
Bhejane leaned forward.
“About a month before your accident, I went to Jason's office with documents showing that Meridian was receiving payments for services it hadn't performed.”
“And?”
“He told me Elias had explained the discrepancies and promised an independent review.”
I closed my eyes.
“He believed him.”
“He wanted to.”
That distinction mattered.
Believing someone because the evidence supported them was one thing.
Believing someone because the alternative was too painful was another.
I poured more tea.
“Where does Celia fit into this?”
Bhejane looked toward the window.
“She's the one who brought Elias into the company. They've worked together for years.”
“Do you think she knows what he did?”
“I think she knows more than she's admitting.”
He hesitated.
“But there's something else.”
I waited.
“The night before your accident, you called me from your apartment. You said you'd found a recording.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“A recording of what?”
“A conversation between Elias and Celia.”
“Did you hear it?”
“No. You said it was too sensitive to send electronically.”
“Where did I keep it?”
He shook his head.
“You wouldn't tell me.”
I almost laughed.
“Why was I so secretive?”
“Because somebody had already been inside your office.”
I looked toward the yellow blanket on my couch.
My apartment suddenly seemed much less secure.
Bhejane noticed.
“Ndoni, I don't think the person who broke in found what they wanted.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Elias kept asking about a blue folder.”
I sat upright.
“A blue folder?”
“That's what the men who threatened me mentioned. They said you had something that belonged to the company.”
My thoughts raced.
The blue house.
The hidden envelope.
The flash drive.
The documents.
Had I hidden the most important evidence somewhere even less obvious?
Bhejane leaned forward.
“Do you remember anything about a blue folder?”
I shook my head.
“Nothing.”
He nodded.
“Then we keep looking.”
For the next hour, we searched the apartment carefully, without disturbing anything that might need forensic examination.
We found ordinary papers.
Bank statements.
Sketchbooks.
A stack of unopened mail.
Then I discovered an old notebook beneath my bed.
Most of it contained design ideas.
But the final pages were filled with handwritten notes about Eastbank.
Several lines were underlined.
ELIAS—PAYMENTS
CELIA—AUTHORIZATIONS
VICTOR—SECURITY
And beneath them:
JASON—WHAT DID HE KNOW, AND WHEN?
I stared at that last question.
The old me had been investigating my husband too.
Not simply defending him.
Not simply accusing him.
Trying to discover the truth.
I turned another page.
There was a drawing of a small community library.
Blue doors.
Wide windows.
A flowering tree beside the entrance.
Something flickered inside my head.
A child laughing.
A woman handing me a cup of tea.
The smell of fresh paint.
Then a voice.
We can't let them tear this place down.
I gasped.
Bhejane looked up.
“What?”
“I remembered something.”
He stood.
“What?”
“A library.”
His face changed.
“Which library?”
I pointed to the drawing.
“Eastbank. There was a community library. I think I was there.”
Bhejane stepped closer.
“Ndoni, that library closed three weeks before your accident.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because the company said the building was unsafe.”
I looked back at the notebook.
On the bottom of the page, my handwriting had formed a single sentence.
THE ORIGINAL IS SAFE WITH THABO.
“Who's Thabo?” I whispered.
Bhejane leaned over my shoulder.
May you like
Then his face went pale.
“Thabo is the boy who was helping you save the library. And according to the official records, he disappeared the same week you crashed.”
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