The sun was already high when Dombi reached the taxi rank, hotter than she expected for that hour.
People moved in every direction—vendors yelling about specials, the smell of kota mixing with exhaust fumes, school kids weaving through grown-ups like they were late for something important.
All of it should've grounded her.
It didn't.
Her hands were still shaking. She kept the small silver key inside her fist the whole walk, squeezing it so tight her palm was red and almost throbbing.
14B.
She hated how scared she was of just two numbers and one letter.
Molefe's last message played in her mind again. Over and over. Like she was going to miss something if she didn't replay it enough times.
She scanned the area because she couldn't help it.
No black car.
No sunglasses guy.
No one was obviously watching.
Still… she didn't trust it. She didn't trust anything anymore.
She started walking again. Faster.
Molefe once mentioned the Parkview Storage Units, back when she wasn't paying full attention. He was talking about files and deadlines and she only remembered it because he made a joke about how the place smelled like wet iron.
Now it was the only place that made sense.
The walk felt longer than it should have been. Maybe it wasn't even long—maybe her nerves stretched everything out. Every sound made her jump a little. A bottle rolling on the pavement. Someone was laughing behind her. Even her own footsteps felt too loud.
She finally reached the gate. The security guard barely lifted his head from his newspaper.
"Storage?" he mumbled, not really asking.
"Yeah." Her voice sounded thinner than usual.
He waved her through like he didn't care either way.
Inside, the rows of metal doors stood stiff and identical, like soldiers lined up. Fading red paint:
13A.
13B.
14A—
There it was.
14B.
Her chest tightened a bit, like the number itself pushed the air out of her lungs.
She checked behind her. Nothing. No footsteps, no one peeking around corners. Just distant city noise.
She slid the key in.
It clicked—too loud in the quiet space.
The metal door groaned upward.
She winced at the sound.
Inside was colder than she expected, and dusty in a way that made her think no one had been here in a long time. The unit wasn't filled with old furniture or junk like she expected. It was almost empty.
Just a metal safe.
And a cardboard file box beside it.
She didn't want to touch anything at first. It felt wrong, like she was stepping into a memory she didn't belong in.
But she forced herself closer.
Inside the box were:
Four old photographs
A birth certificate
A USB
A torn business contract
And a sealed envelope with her name written on it
Her heart gave a strange, painful kick.
She wasn't ready. She knew she wasn't. But she opened the envelope anyway.
Molefe's handwriting looked rushed, uneven, like he wrote it in a hurry or with shaking hands.
**"Dombi,
If you're reading this, I'm either missing or dead.
Your parents didn't die in an accident.
They were silenced.
You were never supposed to know.
What's in this locker is everything they tried to protect — and everything Gugu has kept from you.
Take it and go.
Don't trust anyone.
Especially Mandla.
— Molefe"**
She read the letter once.
Then again.
And a third time, even though the words didn't change. It just wouldn't sink in properly.
Her parents were silenced?
Her throat tightened. A sort of dizziness crept up behind her eyes.
She picked up the photographs because she needed something physical, something to touch.
The first photo: her parents smiling, much younger, standing with another couple in front of a building with a golden logo she didn't recognize.
The second photo: her father shaking hands with Mandla.
That one hit her weird.
Her father looked tense. Mandla looked… normal. Too normal, actually.
The third photo was a group of board members. Her mother was sitting in front, looking serious but calm. Molefe had written on the back:
"The last clean meeting."
Whatever that meant.
The fourth photo was the one that made her sit down. Just drop right onto the concrete floor.
Her parents holding a baby.
Her.
She swallowed hard, the kind of swallow that hurts.
The safe was still sitting in the corner, waiting. She tried the same key and it opened without a fight.
Inside was a black file. Her father's handwriting on the cover:
"For my daughter — if I don't make it."
Her vision blurred a little, but she blinked it away.
Before she could open it, her phone vibrated.
A message.
Private number.
You found it.
Her stomach flipped.
Another message arrived immediately:
Step outside.
Her whole body went cold.
Under the door, the sunlight shifted—someone's shadow moved across the gap. Stayed. Then moved again.
Her phone buzzed a third time.
Don't make this difficult, Dombi.
She backed away from the door, gripping the file as if it could prote
ct her.
A voice outside—deep, calm, too polite for the situation.
"Miss Ntuli… open the door."
She froze.
She knew that voice.
Mandla.
He was right outside…..