Chapter 6 - THE PRICE OF KEEPING QUIET“Site clearance?” I repeated. “What exactly does that mean?”
Mara didn't answer immediately.
She studied the document again, moving her finger across the payment reference and the attached authorization number.
“In a legitimate development project, it can mean preparing land for construction. But considering what you've told me about Eastbank, we need to establish what this particular payment covered.”
Leila stood beside us, her face pale.
“I remember this.”
We both turned toward her.
“Remember what?” I asked.
She pointed to the company listed on the document.
“Meridian Development Services. They sent invoices to our office by mistake. You asked me to forward them to Zwide Group's accounting department.”
“Then what?”
“A few days later, you came back from a meeting looking furious. You told me never to delete anything connected to Meridian.”
Mara opened her notebook.
“Do you still have those invoices?”
Leila nodded.
“I kept everything.”
For the next hour, we worked through archived correspondence.
My head began aching, but I refused to ignore what was happening in front of me.
We found invoices for transportation, consulting, relocation assistance, and security.
Individually, they looked ordinary.
Together, they told a troubling story.
Large sums of money had been paid for moving residents who claimed they had never agreed to leave.
Some invoices listed apartment blocks that were still occupied.
Others referred to compensation agreements apparently signed by people who had died years earlier.
I stared at one document.
An elderly woman named Agnes Dube had supposedly approved the demolition of her home.
According to a newspaper clipping Leila found, Agnes had died two years before the document was signed.
“How could anyone think this would go unnoticed?” I whispered.
Mara looked at me.
“Because people with less money often have to work much harder to make powerful institutions listen.”
The words settled heavily inside me.
I thought about my comfortable bedroom.
My expensive clothes.
The swimming pool outside Sphandla's house.
Somewhere, families were fighting to keep the roofs over their heads while money moved between companies like numbers on a screen.
And apparently, before the accident, I had decided I wasn't going to look away.
Leila brought me a glass of water.
“You should rest.”
“I know.”
“You always said that and then kept working.”
I smiled faintly.
“At least something about me is familiar.”
She sat across from me.
“Ndoni, there's something I need to tell you.”
Her tone made me straighten.
“What?”
“Two days before your accident, you came here late at night. You looked frightened.”
“Did I say why?”
“You told me someone had been inside your apartment.”
My stomach tightened.
“What apartment?”
“The place you rented after leaving Jason.”
I stared at her.
I had another home.
A whole place that belonged to the version of me nobody had bothered to introduce.
“Where is it?”
Leila gave me the address.
Mara immediately offered to arrange a visit.
But before we left, I asked Leila one final question.
“Did you know why I stopped trusting my husband?”
Her eyes filled with sadness.
“You loved him, Ndoni. For a long time, you defended him even when the rest of us were worried.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
She looked at the photograph of Sphandla and me.
“Because every time you brought him evidence, he asked you to keep quiet while he handled it.”
I lowered my eyes.
“And eventually?”
“Eventually, you told him silence was becoming another form of permission.”
I felt those words settle somewhere deep inside me.
They sounded like something I would say.
Or perhaps something I wanted to be brave enough to say.
That afternoon, Mara drove me to the apartment.
It was in a quiet neighborhood about twenty minutes from the studio.
The building had a security gate, a small courtyard, and balconies filled with plants.
My apartment was on the third floor.
When Mara unlocked the door, I stopped at the entrance.
Everything inside was simple.
A gray couch.
A wooden dining table.
Books stacked beside an armchair.
A pair of sneakers beneath the coffee table.
No enormous chandeliers.
No marble staircase.
No staff silently moving through the rooms.
Just a place that looked as though someone had built a life inside it.
My life.
There was a yellow blanket folded across the couch.
I picked it up and held it against my chest.
A strange feeling washed over me.
Not a memory.
Something quieter.
Recognition.
Mara gave me space to walk around.
In the bedroom, I found clothes, jewelry, and framed photographs.
One showed Karabo and Zipho sitting beside me at a restaurant.
All three of us were laughing.
I studied their faces.
“So we really were close.”
Mara appeared in the doorway.
“You were.”
“Then why are they so frightened of Jason?”
She looked uncomfortable.
“I don't know everything that happened between your family and theirs.”
“Their mother?”
“Naledi. She was helping residents organize meetings about Eastbank.”
I remembered Karabo mentioning that her mother had taken their little brother, Omusha, to visit their grandmother.
Had that been true?
Or had Naledi been avoiding Sphandla's house?
My phone buzzed.
A message from Karabo appeared.
NDONI, ARE YOU OKAY? ZIPHO SAYS WE NEED TO TALK TO YOU.
I sat on the bed.
I'm okay. What happened?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
Then another message came through.
WE DIDN'T KNOW YOU WOULD GET SICK.
I stared at the screen.
What do you mean?
Karabo called immediately.
She was crying when I answered.
“Ndoni, I'm so sorry.”
“Karabo, slow down.”
“We should have told you.”
“Told me what?”
She sobbed.
“Zipho wanted to tell you the first day, but Mom said we had to be careful.”
My pulse quickened.
“Tell me what?”
A muffled argument broke out in the background.
Zipho's voice rose sharply.
Then she took the phone.
“Ndoni, listen carefully.”
“I'm listening.”
“We didn't put anything in your food.”
I closed my eyes.
“Okay.”
“But someone told us not to eat anything from a certain package.”
I sat perfectly still.
“What package?”
“The one that came to your house before we arrived.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who sent it?”
Zipho hesitated.
May you like
Then she whispered the name that had just appeared on the documents in my office.
“Celia Zwide. And Ndoni, she told us you weren't supposed to remember anything.”
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