Chapter 9 - I HAD SIX HOURS TO SAVE HIS BROTHERHLENGIWE
I watched the police vehicle disappear through the ranch gates, and something inside me hardened.
Radebe thought arresting Matla would make me helpless.
He had made a serious mistake.
My grandfather approached me.
"My child, what do you want us to do?"
I looked at him.
"First, I need everyone to stop panicking."
He nodded.
"Good. What else?"
"Nobody leaves the ranch without telling security. Nobody signs anything. And nobody speaks to Radebe unless our lawyer is present."
My uncle frowned.
"Since when are you giving orders?"
I faced him.
"Since somebody decided to use my wedding to steal a family's property and threaten an innocent man's life."
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
My grandfather cleared his throat.
"Listen to her."
Within an hour, we had contacted an independent attorney named Naledi Maseko.
She arrived carrying a laptop, several legal folders, and the expression of a woman who had absolutely no patience for nonsense.
"I reviewed the warrant," she told us. "The allegations are serious, but the supporting documents contain several inconsistencies."
"Can you get Matla released?" I asked.
"I'm working on it. The investigating officer has agreed to review our evidence before the detention decision is finalized."
"How long?"
She looked at me.
"I won't promise an exact time. But I can tell you this: the fraud allegation is not the same as proof of fraud."
I showed her the forged consent.
She examined it carefully.
"Did you sign this?"
"No."
"Did you authorize anyone to sign on your behalf?"
"No."
"Then we'll have a forensic document examiner compare the signature and investigate the electronic certificate."
She made several calls.
Then she turned to me.
"What is Radebe demanding?"
I hesitated.
Matla had spent years hiding things because he believed secrecy would protect his family.
I refused to repeat that mistake.
I told her everything relevant to the threats, including the demand for the key, while keeping the family's supernatural identity private.
Naledi listened without interrupting.
Then she said something I hadn't considered.
"If they want a particular object badly enough to kidnap someone, the object probably leads to evidence they cannot afford to have exposed."
"So I shouldn't give it to them?"
"Not without a plan."
I looked at my phone.
It was almost noon.
Sunset was approaching.
And Motsumi was still missing.
Abby joined us.
"I found something."
She opened a map on her laptop.
"The video background shows a section of corrugated metal wall with green paint. I compared it with some photographs from the old industrial sites near the ranch."
I leaned closer.
"Did you find it?"
"Not exactly. But one of the old quarry storage buildings used the same paint."
"That's not enough."
"I know."
She scrolled through several photographs.
"There's also a yellow warning marker behind Motsumi's chair. Those markers were used at a specific water-diversion project."
Naledi looked interested.
"Can we identify the contractor?"
"Maybe."
My mother stepped forward.
"I know somebody who worked on that project."
Everyone turned toward her.
"His name is Sello. He used to oversee maintenance at the old quarry before the company closed."
"Can you reach him?"
She shook her head.
"I haven't spoken to him in years."
"Try," I said.
While she searched for his number, my phone vibrated.
Unknown caller.
I answered.
"Hello?"
A man's voice spoke.
"You have until sunset."
I moved away from the others.
"I want proof Motsumi is alive."
The man laughed.
"You've already seen him."
"That was hours ago."
"Your concern is touching."
I clenched my jaw.
"If you hurt him, you won't get what you want."
There was a pause.
Then another voice came through.
Weak.
But unmistakable.
"Hlengiwe?"
My eyes filled.
"Motsumi!"
"Don't trust—"
A sharp sound cut him off.
I nearly screamed.
"What did you do to him?"
The first man returned.
"Bring the key to the old roadside chapel at six. Come alone."
The call ended.
I stood still for several seconds.
Then I returned to the library.
"I'm going."
Naledi immediately shook her head.
"Not without protection."
"He's alive. I heard him."
"That doesn't make the exchange safe."
"I know."
She studied me.
"What are you proposing?"
I placed the brass key on the table.
"An exchange we document from beginning to end."
Over the next few hours, Naledi helped contact officers outside the team handling Matla's case. Abby prepared a secure recording arrangement and shared the threats with the attorney.
The goal was simple.
Document whoever took the key.
Identify their vehicle.
Keep me alive.
And use the exchange to trace Motsumi.
At five forty-five, I arrived near the abandoned chapel.
I wore ordinary jeans, sneakers, and a dark jacket.
The silver pendant remained hidden beneath my shirt.
The key rested in my pocket.
The chapel stood beside an old service road surrounded by tall grass.
Its windows were broken.
Its wooden door hung crookedly.
I stepped inside.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a man emerged from behind the altar.
He wore a black mask.
"Did you come alone?"
"Yes."
"Show me the key."
I held it up.
He extended his hand.
"Give it to me."
"Where's Motsumi?"
"He'll be released when our employer confirms the key is genuine."
"No."
The man tilted his head.
"No?"
"I want to see him."
He laughed.
"You're not negotiating."
I looked directly at him.
"Then you can explain to your employer why you came back empty-handed."
His expression changed.
For a moment, I thought he would attack me.
Instead, he removed his phone.
A live video appeared.
Motsumi was sitting against a concrete wall.
He looked exhausted.
But he was alive.
"Motsumi!"
He lifted his head.
"Don't give them anything!"
The masked man ended the video.
I handed him the key.
He inspected it.
Then he smiled.
"Good girl."
I stepped forward.
"Don't call me that."
He laughed again.
"Your fiancé should have warned you what happens when people interfere."
I looked him straight in the eyes.
"Perhaps your employer should have warned you that witnesses have a way of remembering faces."
His smile vanished.
He hurried outside.
I waited until I heard his vehicle leave.
Then I contacted Naledi.
"He's gone."
"We have the footage," she replied. "But we've lost visual contact with his vehicle. Are you safe?"
"Yes."
"Leave the chapel now."
I turned toward the door.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Radebe.
THANK YOU FOR THE KEY. YOU HAVE JUST OPENED THE DOOR TO YOUR OWN RUIN.
Attached was a photograph.
The old pump house.
Someone had already broken its outer gate.
May you like
And beneath the photograph was a second message.
BY TOMORROW MORNING, NOTHING YOUR HUSBAND'S PARENTS HID WILL EXIST.
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