INJUSTICE 1

The Kenyan sun, a relentless furnace, beat down on Mia’s bowed head, scorching the very air she breathed, baking the *udongo mwekundu* – the red earth – beneath their feet. The scent of that rich, churned earth, still fresh from hurried shovels, mingled with the cloying, suffocating sweetness of wilting funeral lilies. It felt as if the land itself was weeping, a silent, guttural sob that resonated with the hollow, aching void in her chest. Her father’s name, *Dr. Elias Njoroge*, etched fresh into the unforgiving granite, felt less like a tribute and more like a cruel, mocking jest. Military doctor. Hero. Dead. But how? The official story, a sterile, clipped explanation delivered by a stoic army liaison, had been a heart attack during a routine patrol at the northern border. A convenient, almost dismissive end for a man who had dedicated his life to healing, often in the most perilous corners of the world. *Ni uwongo mtupu,* she thought, a bitter truth echoing in her mind. *It’s a complete lie.* Leo Otieno, a solid, comforting silhouette beside her, his presence a familiar anchor in the storm of her grief, gently placed a warm, steady hand on her shoulder. They had been inseparable since kindergarten, their bond so deep, so instinctively intertwined, that many often mistook it for something more, something romantic. But they were just friends, *marafiki wa dhati*, best friends, bound by years of shared secrets, scraped knees, and quiet understanding. Yet, today, his quiet strength was more than just comforting; it was a desperate lifeline, a tether preventing her from drifting into an abyss of despair. He didn’t try to fill the silence with empty platitudes or forced condolences. He simply stood there, a silent sentinel, letting her raw, guttural sobs rip through the stillness, letting her weep until her throat was hoarse and her eyes burned. “It doesn’t make sense, Leo,” Mia finally choked out, her voice a fragile whisper, barely audible above the rustling of the wind through the acacia trees. “He was at the border, sent there as a military doctor. The frontline. He thrived in chaos, he *knew* how to survive. How could he have died, supposedly of a ‘heart attack’ during a routine patrol, when not a single soldier at that very border, the ones *who should have been the first to die* in any kind of incident, had even a scratch? *haimake sense!*” Her eyes, swollen and red-rimmed, lifted to meet his, pleading for an answer he clearly didn't possess. “It’s a lie, Leo. A carefully constructed lie. I feel it in my bones. *Najua tu.*” A shiver, not from the cooling afternoon air, snaked down her spine. Her father, Elias, was a meticulous man, a survivor. He’d seen far worse than a ‘routine patrol.’ This wasn't him. Leo squeezed her shoulder again, his dark eyes, usually so lighthearted, now filled with a shared confusion, a hint of steel she hadn't seen before. “We’ll find out, Mia,” he vowed, his voice low and firm, a promise etched in stone. I promise you.” He stayed until the last mourner, a distant relative or an old army colleague, had drifted away, their faces a blur of pity and discomfort. His silent vigil was a testament to his unwavering loyalty, a beacon in her darkest hour. As dusk began to paint the vast Kenyan sky in hues of fiery orange and bruised purple, casting long, dancing shadows across the cemetery, Leo finally murmured his goodbyes, his own face etched with weariness, heading back to his quiet home. Mia, drained and numb, her spirit a shattered mosaic, walked with her mother to their car, leaving the fresh grave behind, a gaping, unhealing wound in their lives, a stark reminder of the void Elias had left. They returned to an empty, echoing house, where every creak and whisper seemed to amplify their grief. The scent of funeral lilies still clung to their clothes, a morbid reminder. The next morning, as the first rays of dawn struggled to pierce the heavy curtains, a nondescript brown package arrived. It wasn’t delivered by a courier; it had simply been slipped through their mail slot, appearing as if by magic. It bore no return address, only their home details, typed precisely. Mia, her fingers trembling with a mixture of apprehension and a strange, burgeoning hope, tore it open. Inside, nestled amongst her father’s meticulously folded military uniform – a uniform he had worn with such pride – and a worn copy of Chinua Achebe’s ‘Things Fall Apart’, was a small, unassuming USB flash drive. It felt surprisingly heavy in her palm, imbued with an unspoken, electrifying secret, a tangible link to the truth she desperately sought. When she tried to plug it into her laptop, a stark, unforgiving message flashed across the screen: "ENCRYPTED. ACCESS DENIED." A chill, colder than any morning breeze, snaked down her spine. *Hii ndio siri,* she thought, her heart racing. This was it. This was the mystery, the hidden piece of the puzzle, the truth her father had tried to leave behind. That very night, the world fractured into a million jagged pieces. Mia had just drifted into a fitful, dream-laden sleep, haunted by images of her father, when a muffled scream ripped through the oppressive silence of the house. “Mama!” she heard, a terrified, guttural sound. She bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Footsteps, heavy and hurried, echoed from her mother’s room, followed by the terrifying scrape of furniture being violently moved. Panic, cold and sharp, seized her, twisting her stomach into knots. Creeping out of her room, every nerve screaming, Mia peered down the dark hallway. Two hulking figures, their faces terrifyingly obscured by ski masks, were dragging her mother, Mrs. Njoroge, out the front door. Her mother’s eyes, wide with pure terror, met Mia’s for a fleeting, agonizing second, a silent, desperate plea for help that pierced Mia to her core. Mia lunged forward, a primal cry tearing from her throat, but a harsh, guttural voice from the shadows barked, “*Usisogee!* Don’t move! We want the flash drive. Drop it at the abandoned warehouse near the old railway tracks, tomorrow, at noon after you remove its encrprion. Come alone. Tell anyone, and your mother joins your dad in hell! .” Then, as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, swallowed by the predatory night, leaving only the lingering, sickening scent of stale cigarette smoke and a chilling, profound silence. Mia sank to the floor, numb with shock, her world crumbling around her. They knew about the flash. They knew *she* had it. The next day dawned with a leaden, suffocating sky, mirroring the despair and terror that had taken root in Mia’s soul. Her mother was gone. The USB, once a symbol of hope, now felt like a hot, searing coal in her pocket, burning through her clothes, a burden too heavy to bear. As she sat in the living room, surrounded by the ghosts of her fragmented life, trying to piece together a coherent thought, a sharp, insistent knock at the door startled her, making her jump. Standing on her porch was a woman in a sharp, impeccably tailored suit, her expression serious, her gaze piercing. “Detective Maria Mwangi, DCI. *Habari ya asubuhi? * I’m investigating two men, reportedly seen in this area last night, matching the description of individuals involved in several recent disappearances.” Mia’s blood ran cold, turning to ice in her veins. *Two men*. The kidnappers. The monsters who had stolen her mother. She managed to stammer out a vague, intentionally incomplete description, her heart pounding against her ribs like a drum. She couldn’t reveal the real reason, couldn’t mention the flash drive or the terrifying ransom demand. The words were trapped, suffocated by fear. “They… they took my mother,” she finally admitted, her voice barely a whisper, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air."They said..." She stopped. Something in her wouldn't allow her to mention the flash. Maria’s gaze was sharp, probing, as if sensing the unspoken words, the hidden layers of the truth, but she simply nodded, leaving a card and a promise to be in touch, her departure leaving Mia even more isolated. *Ni shida gani hii,* Mia thought, a swahili phrase for this immense trouble. As soon as Maria’s unmarked car pulled away, disappearing down the street, Mia grabbed her keys, her hands shaking violently. She knew only one person who could possibly help her navigate this treacherous new reality. She drove straight to Leo’s house, the steering wheel slick with her clammy hands, her mind racing. Thankfully, Leo’s mother, Angelica Otieno, was not home. *thank God,* Mia murmured, a small prayer of thanks. Mia spilled the entire story, the words tumbling out in a frantic, desperate rush, ending with the encrypted flash drive clutched tightly in her trembling hand. Leo remained silent for a while, his face pale with shock and concern, and only tried to tried to decode it some seconds later after everything Mia said had sunk into his mind. Hours passed in a tense, agonizing silence, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, the rhythmic clicking of his keyboard the only sound in the room. But the encryption was too sophisticated, too robust. “I can’t break it, Mia,” he admitted, slamming his fist on the desk in frustration, the sound echoing through the quiet house. “It’s military grade, probably. *Haiwezekani!* But… I can make a fake.” Working swiftly, with a focus and determination Mia had rarely seen, Leo created a dummy flash drive. He loaded it with meaningless, encrypted data, meticulously mimicking the size, weight, and even the subtle texture of the original. “They won’t be able to tell the difference without trying to decrypt it,” he explained, handing it to her, his eyes serious. “This gives us time. *tatukua na saa ya kufikiria what next*” Little did they know, Detective Maria, a phantom in her unmarked car, had followed Mia from her house. She was now watching Leo’s from a safe distance, a flicker of suspicion deepening in her sharp eyes, connecting dots Mia couldn't even see. Without asking permission, without a moment’s hesitation, Leo grabbed his mother’s car keys from a hook by the door. “I’m driving,” he declared, his jaw set, his voice brooking no argument. “You’re not going alone. *Siwezi kubali. *” They sped towards the abandoned warehouse, a desolate shell of corrugated iron, rusted metal, and shattered windows that stood like a skeletal monument to forgotten industry on the outskirts of the city. The clock ticked relentlessly towards noon, each second a hammer blow against Mia’s frantic heart. The air inside the cavernous space was thick with dust, the metallic tang of neglect, and the heavy weight of their escalating fear. They waited, their hearts hammering a frantic rhythm against their ribs, the silence amplifying every breath, every tremor. Precisely at noon, a dilapidated minivan, its paint peeling, its engine sputtering, screeched to a halt outside, kicking up a plume of red dust. Two hulking figures, the same men from the previous night, their presence a palpable wave of menace, burst through the warehouse doors. Their eyes, cold and devoid of empathy, immediately locked onto Mia. They didn’t bother to enter the car but yanked Leo and Mia out with brutal efficiency. “*Wapi flash drive?*” one growled, his voice guttural, laced with a chilling impatience. Mia, her hand trembling so violently she almost dropped it, produced the fake. They snatched it, their gazes still cold, unreadable. “Get in the van. Drive to our secure location.” The instructions were curt, the threat implicit, a silent promise of violence if they resisted. Leo, his knuckles white, started the engine, Mia beside him, their bodies rigid with fear, the two kidnappers looming menacingly in the back seat, their presence suffocating. They drove for what felt like an eternity, through winding dirt roads and forgotten industrial zones, eventually pulling up to another isolated, crumbling building, a mirror image of the first, radiating an aura of desolation. Inside, their mother, Mrs. Njoroge, pale and bound to a rickety chair, her eyes wide with terror, slumped weakly. The kidnappers immediately plugged the fake flash into a laptop they produced from a worn backpack.إذا كان حقيقيا، ننهي كل شيء. Meaning they would kill the trio if the flash was the real one. Frustration, raw and dangerous, began to mount on their faces as they tried, and failed, repeatedly, to access its contents. “It’s a fake! ” one roared, his face contorting in pure, venomous rage, his voice echoing menacingly in the bare room. “You brought us a fake!” He pulled out a heavy, dark pistol, the metallic click horrifyingly loud in the tense silence, leveling it with chilling precision at Mia’s head. “You tricked us. Now you all die.”He said it with so much bitterness as if they wouldn't kill them if it were real. Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, the air exploded with a series of rapid, authoritative gunshots. Detective Maria, her own pistol aimed with practiced precision, burst through a side door, a whirlwind of swift movement and unwavering resolve, her voice sharp and commanding. “DCI *wekeni mikono juu!* Drop your weapons!” The two men, surprisingly agile despite their bulk, exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated dread. They didn’t resist Maria’s arrest, a strange, almost resigned surrender on their faces, as if they knew this was merely a temporary setback, a minor inconvenience in a much larger, more intricate game. Maria moved with efficiency, quickly unbound Mia’s mother, Mrs. Njoroge, who collapsed, weak with relief and fear, into Mia’s trembling arms. Maria then turned to Leo, a glint of grudging admiration in her sharp eyes. “You’re good with computers, aren’t you, son? You made that fake. Impressive. *Kazi nzuri.*” She then reached into a plastic evidence bag she had retrieved from one of the kidnappers, pulling out a small, metallic object. “I need you to finish decoding *this*,” she said, handing him the *real* USB, its weight familiar in his palm. “It seems there’s far more to this than a simple kidnapping.” Her gaze swept across the group, a silent promise of deeper, darker truths yet to be unearthed. Later that evening, back at Leo’s house, an argument erupted, fueled by the sheer exhaustion, raw terror, and lingering adrenaline of the day’s events. Angelica Otieno, Leo’s mother, had returned home to find Maria waiting, her presence a cold, official barrier, and Mia and her mother, both physically and emotionally shattered. Maria had left shortly after Mia’s mother was rushed to the hospital for observation, warning them to stay put, to speak to no one. “You knew, didn’t you?” Leo accused his mother, his voice shaking with a volatile mixture of anger and profound betrayal, the truth of his father’s past, and perhaps her complicity, beginning to dawn on him. “You knew about the flash, about Dad, about all of this! *Maa, wuonwa koso en ang’o?*” (Mother, father, or what is it?) Thousands of questions, raw and desperate, tumbled from him, demanding answers. His mother, her face etched with a strange, weary sorrow, her eyes devoid of warmth, offered no verbal answers, only a cold, hard stare that seemed to see right through him. “Decode it, Leo,” she said, her voice a flat, emotionless monotone. “I promise I’ll get Mia and her mother out of this. *kama tu utaifungua, * Leo. It’s the only way.” Her words were laced with an unsettling finality, a hint of desperation, yet her demeanor remained stoic, unyielding. Leo doubted her, every fibre of his being screaming against trusting her, against this sudden, unsettling twist in the narrative he thought he knew. The woman he thought he knew seemed to be a stranger. "why me," he thought, "doesn't the DCI have computer experts?" But she was right. She was his only option. Mia’s mother was in danger, Mia herself was shattered, and the flash drive held the key. A week passed in a blur of restless nights and furious coding. Leo, driven by a desperate, insatiable need for answers and a deep-seated, gnawing fear for Mia and her mother, pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion. He finally managed to c***k the encryption, the final line of code yielding with a satisfying, digital sigh. The contents were explosive, a meticulously documented web of corruption, illicit deals, and dangerous political maneuverings that reached to the highest echelons of power. The first thing he did, instinctively, was to copy the files to another flash drive, a secure backup. Then, with a chilling foresight, he installed a sophisticated, undetectable virus on the original, one that would hide any trace of the files ever being opened or shared, effectively making it a dead end for anyone trying to trace its access. He gave a copy to his mother, a silent, tense exchange that spoke volumes about the unspoken pact between them. It was a Monday. Angelica had left early that morning, her usual stoic self, and hadn’t returned by afternoon. Leo, a knot of deep unease tightening in his stomach, switched on the news, a vague sense of dread washing over him. The headline screamed across the screen, a punch to his gut, a sickening twist of fate: “Former Military Doctor’s Wife Charged in National Security Case, Sentenced Immediately.” The reporter, her voice grave, went on to explain that Mia’s mother had been tried and convicted with unprecedented speed, a judicial process that defied all norms, while Mia herself had been released into the protective care of none other than Angelica Otieno. Leo stared, dumbfounded, his mind struggling to process the information. First, the speed of justice in Kenya was notoriously, agonizingly slow; how could a case of national security, involving such grave charges, be processed and sentenced in less than a week? It reeked of a predetermined outcome, a rigged trial, just like the hundreds in the contents of the flash. Second, and perhaps more disturbingly, why would Mia, the daughter of the convicted, be brought to *their* home, under his mother’s care? The pieces didn't fit, creating a terrifying picture of manipulation and control.Someone was pulling the strings, someone powerful. Just then, the front door opened, creaking softly. Angelica walked in, her face impassive, as always. Mia trailed behind her, a ghost of her former self. Mia looked utterly broken, her eyes blazing with a grief that had morphed into raw, incandescent fury, a burning resentment that sought an outlet. She had lost her father to a mysterious death, and now her mother to jail, a fault she inexplicably, illogically, pinned on Leo, the only tangible link to the disaster that had befallen her family. She barely acknowledged him, her gaze sliding past him as if he were invisible. She stormed straight to the room Angelica had prepared for her, isolating herself, consumed by a burning, singular desire: to free her mother and avenge her father. *Ndakuhonokia, mama!* (I will save you, mother!), she vowed silently, a Kikuyu plea for justice. What Mia hadn’t told anyone, not even Leo, was that after her mother’s swift, brutal conviction, she’d had a secret, clandestine meeting. It wasn’t with a lawyer, who would have been useless against such powerful forces, but with someone claiming to be from the Anti-Corruption Bureau. They had promised her mother’s release, and justice for her father, if Mia could retrieve the contents of the flash drive and hand them over. Her new objective was clear, chillingly simple: get that flash. Mia began to pretend, subtly at first, a masterclass in emotional manipulation. She slowly, painstakingly, began to forgive Leo, her walls gradually crumbling, exposing a vulnerability that tugged at his heart. She engaged him in conversation, carefully steering it towards his father, the case, anything that might bring her closer to the flash drive and its secrets. Leo, so trusting, so desperate for connection, for a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos, believed her. He spoke freely about the flash drive’s contents – the pervasive corruption, the damning names, the irrefutable evidence of his father’s dark dealings – but never, not once, did he reveal its hiding place. He loved her, and in his desperation to mend their fractured friendship, he lowered his guard. One day, out of the blue, Angelica approached Leo, a strange, almost unsettling light in her eyes, a calculated glint he couldn’t decipher. “You’ve always wanted to know who your father is, haven’t you?” she asked, her voice softer than usual, a rare display of emotion. “You have five minutes to get dressed and follow me.” Then, she leaned in, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine: “And carry the real flash this time, will you? " The ambiguity of her tone, the veiled command, was unsettling, but the promise of answers was too intoxicating to resist. Excitement, a dizzying, overwhelming surge, coursed through Leo, overriding his lingering doubts, his internal warnings. His father! *Atima!* (Finally!), he thought in Dholuo. Finally, after a lifetime of questions, answers. Within the single month Mia had stayed with them, she had already pieced together fragments of the mystery surrounding Leo’s father, observing Angelica’s secretive phone calls, her cryptic remarks, sensing a deeper, darker game afoot. He rushed to tell Mia, his face alight with a childlike wonder, a fragile hope. He quickly retrieved the real flash from its secure, hidden spot, slipping it into his pocket. Then, in a spontaneous burst of emotion, a desperate need for shared joy, he tightly hugged Mia, a comforting, almost romantic embrace that felt both right and tragically wrong. Their eyes met, and in the outburst of affection, their lips touched. “I’m finally meeting him,” he whispered into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll tell you everything when I get back.” What a scene, Mia felt. She had just played the love card all too well, and had obtained an invaluable reward. Her heart ached, knowing the shared love wouldn't last, but she couldn't allow that to distract her. He headed out with his mother, oblivious to the subtle, almost imperceptible shift in Mia’s posture during their kiss. In that brief, unguarded moment of what he believed was shared intimacy, Mia had deftly, expertly plucked the flash drive from his pocket, her movements smooth and practiced, her face a mask of feigned empathy. It was a beautiful afternoon as they drove into the bustling, vibrant heart of Nairobi, the city’s energy a stark contrast to Leo’s inner turmoil. To Leo’s surprise, Angelica didn’t stop at a bustling restaurant or a towering office building. Instead, she pulled into the secure, heavily guarded parking lot of Parliament Buildings. His father. Here? Inside, in a lavishly appointed private office, bathed in the soft glow of filtered sunlight, sat a man with a striking resemblance to Leo, an older, sharper, more refined version. He exuded an aura of immense power and quiet authority. “Allan Otieno,” Angelica introduced, her voice flat, devoid of any warmth or history. Leo’s mind reeled. He’d seen the name countless times on political posters plastered everywhere back in Siaya , heard it on the news, a constant presence in the national discourse. He quickly, frantically, pulled out his phone, a frantic Google search confirming it: Allan Otieno, the influential Member of Parliament for Bondo constituency, his very hometown, the man who shaped laws, the face of power. His father. *Wuonwa!* (My father!), he thought, a mixture of awe and disbelief. Their conversation was a strange, unsettling dance of revelation and calculated evasion. Allan, impeccably dressed in a custom-tailored suit, spoke calmly, explaining his reasons for never associating with Leo or his mother – “reasons of optics, political necessity, the delicate balance of public perception.” But the elephant in the room, the reason Leo was truly there, couldn’t be avoided. Leo had looked at the contents of the flash. They detailed extensive corruption, illicit land deals, offshore accounts, even a chilling connection to the very border incidents that had indirectly led to Mia’s father’s death, a tangled web of deceit and murder. The knowledge was a cold, bitter counterpoint to the rush of finally meeting his father, yet the raw excitement of the moment still buzzed within him, a confusing cocktail of emotions. The conversation ended abruptly, the atmosphere shifting, thickening with an unspoken tension. “Leo,” Allan said, his voice dropping, his eyes narrowing slightly, “where is the flash?” Leo’s hand instinctively went to his pocket, a sudden, cold dread washing over him. His heart plummeted. Empty. A sickening realization hit him, a punch to the gut. He stared at his father, his voice barely a whisper, thick with disbelief and a crushing sense of betrayal. “Mia.” Allan Otieno’s lips curled into a slow, chilling smirk – *tabasamu baridi* – his eyes utterly devoid of warmth, reflecting only a calculating, predatory intelligence. “And that’s why you should never trust anyone, son.” He spoke as if nothing significant had happened, as if a lifetime of betrayal and the fate of multiple lives didn’t hang in the balance. But then, he added, his voice casually dismissive, “But don’t worry, I always take precautions. *Mimi siwezi shikwa, labda nijishike.*” He looked at Angelica, a silent, knowing exchange passing between them, a shared understanding that needed no words. When Mia had had that secret meeting, it wasn’t with the genuine Anti-Corruption Bureau. It was with *his* people, embedded deep within the bureau, loyal only to him, their promises a carefully constructed lie. At that very moment, while Allan was calmly chatting with his newfound son, his operatives had already met with Mia. She had, as instructed, handed over the flash drive, her desperate hope shining in her eyes. And immediately after confirming its contents – the real, unadulterated evidence of Allan Otieno’s crimes, the key to his undoing – they put a bullet through her head, silencing the last loose end, extinguishing the fire of her vengeance with ruthless efficiency. Mia, the grieving teenager, the loyal friend, the avenging daughter, was gone, erased from the board. Her death, an efficient, calculated move in a game she hadn’t fully understood she was playing, echoed silently in the hallowed halls of power, a testament to the ruthless nature of those who wielded it. Leo, a naive pawn in a game far larger and more dangerous than he could ever have imagined, stared at his father, a man he had just found and already utterly despised, the terrifying weight of his naivete and her brutal sacrifice crushing him under its immense, suffocating burden. The world, once again, fractured around him, but this time, he knew, there would be no going back. *Hakuna kurudi nyuma.* **ANTI CORRUPTION BEARUE, REPUBLIC OF KENYA** **Date:** [03 MARCH 2 0 2 5 ] **Mrs. Njoroge** ADM NO 6 9 8 6 Lang'ata Women's Prison Nairobi, Kenya **Subject: Reassurance and Our Unwavering Commitment to Justice** Dear Mrs. Njoroge, Please accept this letter as a sincere expression of our profound concern and deep regret regarding the circumstances of your current incarceration. We understand the immense pain and injustice you must be enduring, especially following the tragic and deeply suspicious death of your esteemed husband, Dr. Elias Njoroge, a true patriot and a man of unwavering integrity. The Anti-Corruption Bureau has been meticulously monitoring the events surrounding Dr. Njoroge’s passing and your subsequent, alarmingly swift, conviction. We want to assure you, unequivocally, that we believe the official narrative surrounding both these events is deeply flawed and indicative of a much larger, more sinister web of deceit. We recognize that your husband’s death was no mere heart attack, and your trial, a travesty of justice designed to silence the truth. We are acutely aware of the courage and determination displayed by your daughter, Mia, in her relentless pursuit of answers and justice for her father. Her spirit, even in the face of such overwhelming adversity, was truly remarkable. It is with a heavy heart that we acknowledge the dangers inherent in uncovering such deeply entrenched corruption. While we cannot at this moment disclose the full extent of our ongoing investigations, please know that her efforts have not been in vain. The Bureau is fully committed to unearthing the truth, no matter how high it reaches or how powerful the individuals involved. We are working tirelessly to gather the irrefutable evidence needed to dismantle this corrupt network and ensure that those who orchestrated your husband’s demise, engineered your unjust imprisonment, and caused such unspeakable suffering, are brought to justice. Your faith in the truth will not be misplaced. We promise that every facet of this egregious conspiracy will be exposed, and every perpetrator will face the full force of the law. Hold steadfast, Mrs. Njoroge. Justice, though sometimes slow, is inevitable. As we speak, we have in our possession a USB flash drive that is believed to contain just about everything we need to serve justice. I promise you by the flag of Kenya and the blood of those who fought so hard for Kenya's freedom, that you will have justice for your daughter and husband. May their souls rest in eternal peace. With utmost sincerity and unwavering resolve, **[MKM]** **Director, Anti-Corruption Bureau** Republic of Kenya. Will the discovered evidence bring justice? Will Member of Parliament Allan Otieno get arrested? Or will he pull another trick up his sleeve? Watch out for ; INJUSTICE TWO...