ELEVEN MILLION RANDS?!
1535 Words
Naledi woke before her alarm, her mind already running through the same numbers.
Twelve million.
Eleven million.
Three weeks.
She stared at the ceiling and tried to convince herself that there was an innocent explanation. There had to be. Maybe Portia had once been connected to Richard Mthembu's account for a perfectly ordinary reason. Maybe the old transaction had nothing to do with his death. Maybe the note in her father's study meant something else entirely.
But every explanation she created collapsed under the weight of another question.
Why had Portia asked about her birthday three weeks ago?
Why had the account used to frame her been opened during that same period?
And why had her father kept records of Portia's name in a file connected to the family trust?
Naledi finally got out of bed.
She showered, dressed and went downstairs with the intention of making coffee. She stopped when she saw Maseko sitting at the kitchen counter.
She stared at him.
“How did you get in?”
He lifted a key.
“Your security guard let me through.”
“You couldn't call?”
“I did.”
Naledi checked her phone.
Three missed calls.
“You called at six in the morning?”
“I've been awake since five.”
“That isn't normal.”
“Neither is being framed for twelve million rand.”
She wanted to argue, but the corner of her mouth lifted.
Maseko noticed.
“You're smiling.”
“Don't get excited.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
He pushed a cup toward her.
“Coffee.”
Naledi looked at it suspiciously.
“You made this?”
“I watched Mama Rose make it.”
She laughed.
“Very impressive.”
“I didn't want to poison you before breakfast.”
“That's comforting.”
She sat opposite him.
For a few seconds, neither spoke.
Then Maseko's expression became serious.
“I checked Richard Mthembu's records.”
Naledi's smile disappeared.
“What did you find?”
“The eleven-million-rand transfer wasn't the only unusual transaction.”
She leaned forward.
“What else?”
“Three days before he died, he met your father.”
“About what?”
“We don't know.”
“There's a record of the meeting?”
“Not officially. But your father's calendar has an entry.”
Naledi frowned.
“Then why didn't the police mention it?”
“Because the calendar was deleted.”
She stared at him.
“How did you find it?”
“I had someone recover an old backup.”
“Someone?”
“A digital forensics specialist.”
Naledi nodded slowly.
“Can I see it?”
Maseko opened his laptop.
A scanned calendar entry appeared on the screen.
Richard Mthembu — 18:30.
Location: Private residence.
Naledi's stomach tightened.
“My father's house.”
“Yes.”
“Was Portia here?”
“We're checking.”
Naledi leaned back.
“Why would Richard meet my father privately?”
“That's what we need to find out.”
She looked at the screen again.
There was something beneath the appointment.
A short note.
Bring the documents.
Naledi pointed at it.
“What documents?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you recover more?”
“Maybe.”
He closed the laptop.
“There is another problem.”
“Of course there is.”
“The police have requested access to your financial records.”
Naledi sighed.
“Fine.”
“They've also requested your phone.”
She stared at him.
“My phone?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“We don't know.”
Naledi picked up her phone.
The device suddenly felt less like something that belonged to her and more like evidence that could be used against her.
“Can they take it?”
“With a proper order.”
“And if they find nothing?”
“Then it helps us.”
She looked at him.
“You always make everything sound simple.”
“It's not simple.”
“Then why do you keep acting like it is?”
Maseko's expression softened.
“Because someone needs to remain calm.”
Naledi looked away.
She wasn't used to people being calm for her.
Her father had always expected her to handle herself. Portia had always encouraged her to smile. Friends had offered sympathy.
Maseko offered steadiness.
She didn't know what to do with it.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
ASK YOUR FATHER ABOUT RICHARD.
Naledi's blood ran cold.
She showed Maseko.
His jaw tightened.
“That's enough.”
“What?”
“We're going to your father.”
Naledi shook her head.
“He doesn't want to see me.”
“Then he'll have to see us.”
Twenty minutes later, they were driving toward her father's estate.
Naledi hadn't been there since the police searched the property. She had spent most of her childhood there, but now every familiar tree and window seemed to carry a secret.
Her father was waiting in the study.
He looked older than he had the previous week.
His shoulders were heavy, his shirt collar open, his eyes tired.
When he saw Maseko, his expression hardened.
“You should have called.”
Maseko remained calm.
“We need answers.”
Her father looked at Naledi.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“I'm your daughter.”
“You're also under investigation.”
“Exactly.”
He looked away.
Naledi stepped closer.
“Dad, did you know Richard Mthembu?”
Her father's face changed.
Only slightly.
But Naledi saw it.
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
“His business failed.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Her father looked at her.
“He was struggling.”
“Did you meet him three days before he died?”
Silence.
Naledi felt her heart pounding.
Maseko placed the recovered calendar on the desk.
Her father stared at it.
“Where did you get this?”
“That doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Then answer the question.”
Her father stood.
“You don't understand what you're asking.”
“Then explain it.”
He walked toward the window.
“Richard was involved in something dangerous.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“You were his business partner.”
“That doesn't mean I knew everything.”
Naledi followed him with her eyes.
“Did Portia know him?”
Her father turned.
The silence answered before he did.
“Yes.”
Naledi felt the room change.
“How?”
“They worked together.”
“Doing what?”
“Consulting.”
“When?”
“Before I met her.”
Naledi swallowed.
“Did she have access to his finances?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“I trusted her.”
The words came out quietly.
Naledi stared at him.
“Do you still?”
Her father didn't answer.
Maseko stepped forward.
“What happened to the eleven million rand?”
Her father's face hardened.
“You've been investigating this.”
“Yes.”
“You should stop.”
Naledi stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because some things are better left buried.”
The anger inside her finally broke through.
“No. That's exactly what everyone keeps telling me. Don't ask. Don't look. Don't accuse anyone. Meanwhile, I'm the one facing prison for something I didn't do.”
Her father's expression softened.
“Naledi—”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I need the truth.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said something that made her blood run cold.
“Richard didn't kill himself.”
Silence filled the room.
Naledi barely breathed.
“What?”
“Someone killed him.”
Maseko's expression changed.
“Who?”
Her father looked toward the door.
“I don't know.”
“You've known this all these years?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
He looked directly at her.
“From the same person who is trying to destroy you now.”
Naledi felt the room tilt.
“Portia?”
Her father closed his eyes.
He didn't say her name.
He didn't need to.
A sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Unhurried.
Then Portia appeared in the doorway.
She was dressed in a cream suit, her hair perfectly styled, a small handbag resting on her arm.
She looked at Naledi.
Then Maseko.
Then her husband.
Her expression remained calm.
“What a surprise.”
Naledi stared at her.
Portia smiled.
“Are we having a family meeting without me?”
No one answered.
Portia's eyes moved to the papers on the desk.
For the first time, Naledi saw something flicker across her face.
Fear.
It lasted less than a second.
Then it disappeared.
Portia smiled again.
“What have you found?”
Naledi stepped forward.
“We found Richard.”
Portia's smile froze.
And for the first time since the investigation began, Naledi knew one thing for certain.
Portia was afraid.
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