Chapter 5 - MY BROTHER FOUND SOMETHING INSIDE HIS NEW APARTMENTMOTSUMI
For most of my life, I believed my oldest brother didn't trust me.
Matla controlled everything.
Where I traveled.
When I hunted.
Who knew our secrets.
Even how I spoke to strangers.
Whenever I made a mistake, he reacted as though the entire family were about to be destroyed.
But when he handed me the keys to my own apartment in Cape Town, something changed.
For the first time, I felt like he saw me as a man instead of the little brother he had to protect.
That was why I couldn't understand why he had suddenly become so worried about me.
"There's no reason for you to travel today," he said when I mentioned inspecting the apartment.
We were standing outside the ranch's main house.
It was Friday morning.
"Abuti, it's a two-hour flight."
"We have a lot going on."
"Exactly. And you've got everything covered here."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Motsumi—"
"Please don't start."
He stopped.
I took a breath.
"Yesterday, you told me you wanted to trust me more. Give me the chance."
His expression softened.
"You're right."
I smiled.
"Of course I am."
He pulled me into a hug.
"Be careful."
I laughed.
"You sound like someone's grandmother."
He released me.
"Just call when you land."
I promised I would.
Three hours later, I arrived in Cape Town.
The apartment was beautiful.
Two bedrooms, a spacious living room, a balcony overlooking a quiet street, and enormous windows that allowed sunlight to pour into every corner.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, simply taking everything in.
Matla had done this for me.
No conditions.
No lecture.
Just an opportunity to begin building something of my own.
I called my wife and showed her the apartment through video.
She screamed with excitement.
"We're really doing this!"
"We are."
"Your brother is going to make me cry."
"Don't tell him. His head is already too big."
We laughed.
After ending the call, I began checking the rooms.
Everything appeared normal until I entered the smaller bedroom.
A large wooden cabinet stood against one wall.
It looked old and completely out of place among the modern furnishings.
I tried moving it.
It didn't budge.
When I inspected the bottom, I noticed two metal bolts holding it in place.
Strange.
Why would somebody bolt a cabinet to an apartment wall?
I called the real estate agent who had handled the transfer.
"Excuse me," I said. "Who owned this apartment before my brother bought it?"
There was a brief pause.
"An elderly gentleman named Simon Molapo."
The name meant nothing to me.
"Did he leave furniture behind?"
"Only a few pieces. Mr. Molapo passed away earlier this year."
Something about her voice changed.
"Actually, there was a condition attached to the sale."
"What condition?"
"The buyer had to belong to the Makhetha family."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"I don't know. The estate attorney handled that instruction."
I ended the call.
For several seconds, I stared at the cabinet.
Then I opened my toolbox.
Twenty minutes later, the bolts came loose.
Behind the cabinet was a small metal compartment built into the wall.
My heartbeat quickened.
Inside lay an old leather folder.
A sealed envelope rested on top.
Written across the front were two words.
KHOTSO MAKHETHA.
My grandfather had the same name as our father, but there was no mistaking the signature underneath.
It belonged to my dad.
I sat down heavily.
My hands were shaking.
Inside the envelope was a letter dated eighteen years earlier.
If this reaches one of my children, the danger I feared has probably become real.
I swallowed.
There are people trying to force the sale of our land. They have already begun falsifying records and threatening those who oppose them.
Simon has agreed to preserve the evidence if Lilian and I cannot bring it forward ourselves.
I pray that you never need this letter.
But if you do, remember something important: your worth was never measured by how much danger you could survive.
You are allowed to live, my children. You are allowed to be happy.
My eyes filled with tears.
I had spent years trying to prove to Matla that I was strong enough to stand on my own.
Our father, even in the middle of danger, had wanted us to have ordinary happiness.
I wiped my face and opened the folder.
There were photographs.
Property surveys.
Bank statements.
Transport permits.
And a handwritten list of payments made to several contractors.
At the bottom of one page was a name.
Mandla Radebe.
A series of transfers totaling millions of rand had been made through shell companies connected to his business interests.
Then I noticed something else.
One company was still active.
Nhlaka Logistics and Transport.
I had heard that name before.
Zakhele's brother owned the business.
My phone vibrated.
Matla was calling.
I answered immediately.
"Abuti, I found something."
"What?"
"Evidence. I think it belongs to Dad."
He went silent.
"Where are you?"
"Inside the apartment."
"Lock the door."
I looked up.
Someone was walking down the hallway outside.
Heavy footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"Motsumi?"
"I'm here."
"Listen to me. Don't let anyone inside."
The footsteps stopped outside my door.
Then someone knocked.
"Building maintenance!"
I stared at the peephole.
Two men stood in the corridor.
Neither wore a uniform.
One looked directly toward the peephole.
Then he smiled.
I stepped backward.
"Abuti, there's someone here."
"Get out through the balcony if you have to."
I looked toward the balcony.
Five floors above the street.
Not ideal.
But for someone like me, not impossible.
I grabbed the folder.
The men began forcing the lock.
I ran toward the balcony.
Then something smashed through the glass.
A small metal cylinder rolled across the floor.
Thick smoke erupted.
My vision blurred.
I stumbled backward, choking.
I heard Matla shouting through the phone.
Then everything went black.
The last thing I saw was a man standing over me.
May you like
He removed his gloves and spoke into a radio.
"Tell Mr. Radebe we have the younger Makhetha. The wedding can proceed exactly as planned."
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