Chapter 14 - THE BOY WHO HELD MY LAST MEMORYThere are things a person can forget.
Birthdays.
Addresses.
Anniversaries.
The name of a restaurant where they once had a wonderful meal.
But I was beginning to understand that some parts of who we are survive even when our memories don't.
I had forgotten the community library.
I had forgotten Eastbank.
I had forgotten the people who trusted me.
Yet when I looked at the drawing in my notebook, I felt an overwhelming need to protect something.
I couldn't explain it.
I only knew that it mattered.
The following morning, Detective Nkosi agreed to help locate Thabo.
She warned us that the phrase disappeared might have been misleading.
His family had moved after receiving a relocation notice, but their forwarding address was missing from the project records.
There was no confirmed report of a crime against him.
That should have reassured me.
It didn't.
Because the records connected to Eastbank had already proved unreliable.
Naledi offered to help us identify people who might know the family.
Within hours, she found someone.
Thabo's grandmother.
Her name was Mrs. Dube.
She lived in a small house outside Johannesburg, surrounded by potted flowers and an impressive number of cats.
When we arrived, she opened the door wearing a faded blue sweater.
Her eyes widened when she saw me.
“Ndoni?”
I nodded.
She covered her mouth.
“Oh, child.”
Before I could speak, she pulled me into a hug.
I closed my eyes.
I didn't remember her.
But her embrace was so full of relief that I felt tears rise immediately.
She led us inside.
The house smelled of ginger tea and warm bread.
Photographs covered the walls.
Children at graduations.
Weddings.
Birthdays.
A lifetime preserved in frames.
Mrs. Dube studied me as we sat down.
“They told us you had a terrible accident.”
“I did.”
“And your memory?”
“Still missing some important pieces.”
She nodded sadly.
“You always said the mind is a strange house. Sometimes the doors close, but the rooms are still there.”
I smiled.
“That sounds like something I would say.”
“It is. You said it when Thabo struggled after his father died.”
My chest tightened.
“Where is he?”
She hesitated.
“He's safe.”
Relief washed through me.
“Thank God.”
“He's staying with my sister. We moved him after men started asking questions.”
“What men?”
“One worked for the development company. Another said he was collecting documents.”
I exchanged a look with Mara.
Mrs. Dube noticed.
“You know who they are?”
“We have some leads,” Mara said carefully.
I leaned forward.
“Mrs. Dube, I think I left something with Thabo before my accident.”
She studied me.
“You did.”
My breath caught.
“He told me you might come looking for it someday.”
“Does he still have it?”
“I believe so.”
“Could we speak with him?”
She nodded.
“But first, I need to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Are you still going to help us?”
The question was simple.
And devastating.
I looked around her small home.
She had already lost the apartment where she raised her children.
She had moved away from her neighbors.
Her grandson had been forced to hide.
And she was asking whether the woman who promised to help them still remembered the promise.
I reached across the table.
“I don't remember everything I said before the accident. But I'm here now. And I'm not walking away.”
She squeezed my hand.
“That's all I needed to hear.”
Thabo arrived later that afternoon.
He was seventeen, tall and thin, with nervous eyes and a backpack hanging from one shoulder.
The moment he saw me, he stopped.
“Miss Ndoni?”
I smiled.
“Hello, Thabo.”
He stared at me.
Then he began crying.
I stood.
He hugged me so tightly that I nearly lost my balance.
“I thought you were dead.”
My throat closed.
“I'm very much alive.”
He laughed through his tears.
“You don't remember me?”
“Not properly.”
His smile faded.
“That's okay.”
“No,” I said gently. “It's not okay. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm glad to see you.”
We sat at the kitchen table.
Thabo took out a sketchbook.
Its cover was blue.
My heart began pounding.
“Is that mine?”
He nodded.
“You gave it to me before your accident.”
“Why?”
“You said it was safer with someone nobody important would bother looking at.”
I stared at him.
“Did I really say that?”
He smiled.
“Almost exactly.”
He opened the book.
Most pages were filled with his drawings.
Buildings.
Bridges.
Classrooms.
A school with a huge library and gardens on the roof.
I studied them.
“These are beautiful.”
He looked embarrassed.
“You said I should study architecture.”
“I was right.”
He grinned.
Then he turned to the final page.
A small paper pocket had been attached to the back cover.
Inside was a memory card.
My breath caught.
“Is that what I gave you?”
He nodded.
“You told me that if you didn't come back, I should give it to your lawyer. But then you had the accident, and people started asking about you.”
Mara leaned forward.
“Why didn't you contact me?”
Thabo lowered his eyes.
“I was scared. They came to our house. One man told my grandmother that people who interfered with Eastbank would regret it.”
I reached for his hand.
“You did the right thing by staying safe.”
He looked at me.
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“But people still lost their homes.”
“That's not your responsibility.”
He swallowed.
“Sometimes it feels like it is.”
I thought of Karabo and Zipho.
Of Judith.
Of everyone who had been made to feel responsible for a powerful person's wrongdoing.
“Thabo, listen to me. The people responsible are the adults who made those decisions. Not the teenager who protected evidence while trying to protect his grandmother.”
He nodded slowly.
Then he handed the memory card to Mara.
“Can this help?”
“We'll find out,” she said.
The card went directly to investigators for forensic examination.
I didn't expect immediate answers.
But two days later, Detective Nkosi called.
“The files are readable,” she said.
My heart leaped.
“What was on it?”
“Copies of construction assessments, financial records, and audio files.”
“Audio?”
“Yes.”
I gripped the phone.
“From who?”
“One recording appears to contain a conversation between Elias Venter and Celia Zwide.”
My knees weakened.
“Can I hear it?”
“Not yet. We need to verify its integrity and identify the speakers.”
I closed my eyes.
“Does it explain the accident?”
“We're still working through it.”
A pause.
Then her voice became serious.
“Ndoni, there is something you need to know right now.”
“What?”
“The files contain an engineering report showing that one of the Eastbank buildings may have been left in a dangerous condition after unauthorized construction work.”
My stomach tightened.
“Is anyone living there?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Dozens of families.”
I stood.
“Then we have to get them out.”
“Inspectors are being notified.”
I stared at the phone.
“Which building?”
Detective Nkosi gave me the address.
I recognized it from the notebook.
The building beside the community library.
The place where children had once gathered to read.
May you like
Then she added something that made my blood run cold.
“An internal company schedule lists that building for demolition tomorrow morning—with no confirmed record that everyone has been evacuated.”
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