The storm from last night had passed, but the streets still glistened — mirrors of puddled rain catching the pale morning light.
Dombi walked fast, her hood pulled low, a folded paper pressed into her pocket. The air was cool, damp, carrying secrets in every breath.
She hadn't told anyone where she was going.
Not Gugu. Not Zanele.
Especially not Zanele.
The note she had found tucked behind a document last night was simple — almost careless — but it held a name:
"L. Molefe — Old partner. He knows."
Beneath it, an address was scrawled.
She turned into the old industrial street in Johannesburg. The air smelled of oil, steel, and forgotten dreams. A half-abandoned building loomed ahead, its sign faded: Molefe & Ntuli Holdings.
Her heart clenched.
That name — Ntuli.
It felt like touching a ghost with her bare hands.
Inside, dust hung in slivers of light from cracked windows. The room smelled of old paper and mildew. A lone man sat behind a desk, grey hair slicked back, dark eyes sharp but tired.
He looked up as she stepped inside.
"Can I help you?" His voice was low, cautious.
Dombi hesitated. Then she stepped forward.
"My name is Dombi," she said softly. "Dombi Ntuli."
The man froze. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then he slowly rose, eyes searching hers.
"You… you can't be—" His voice cracked with disbelief. "You're their daughter?"
"Yes." Her throat tightened. "I didn't know. Not until recently."
He rubbed a hand over his face, pacing. "You shouldn't be here. If anyone finds out I spoke to you…"
"Please," she interrupted, voice trembling. "I just need to understand. What really happened to my parents?"
He stopped, sorrow etched deep in his face. "Your parents were good people, Dombi. But they trusted the wrong ones. Greed surrounded them — in their boardroom, in their home."
Tears filled her eyes. "You mean… my family?"
He hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Your mother's sister, Gugu… she wasn't always poor. She was part of the business. When your father discovered she had been stealing money through fake contracts, everything fell apart. The confrontation got ugly. Two weeks later…" He didn't finish.
Dombi staggered back, her heart shattering.
"No…" she whispered. "No. She raised me. She—she loved me."
"Maybe she did once," Molefe said gently, "but love changes when money and power are on the line. She didn't kill them herself… but she let it happen."
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Memories splintered: Gugu's warm meals. Her soft scolding. Her laughter. All of it cracked apart like broken glass.
"I have proof." Molefe pulled a dusty folder from a drawer. "I kept these because I couldn't forget what they did. But you must be careful. If Gugu knows you're asking questions, she'll come for you, too."
Dombi took the folder, hands trembling. Inside: financial records, board meeting notes, and a single photograph of Gugu standing with two men in black suits outside a luxury car.
The same men from her childhood photo.
The same men from her nightmares.
"I… I don't know who to trust anymore," she whispered.
"Then trust yourself," Molefe said. "Your mother was the same. She had fire in her blood — so do you."
For the first time in days, something ignited inside her — not fear, not sorrow, but purpose.
She looked out the dusty window. The city stretched wide and cold before her.
If Gugu wanted her silent, she would have to fight louder than ever.
She turned back to Molefe. "I won't stop."
Not until I make them pay.
He nodded once, slowly. "May God protect you, child. Because from here on… you're on your own."
Outside, the wind picked up again, carrying the faint rumble of dis
tant thunder — a reminder that storms don't end. They only move closer.