Chapter 11: Pressure Points
887 Words
Kay closed her office door with trembling fingers, her breath coming in shallow bursts.
The quiet was unnatural. The kind that rang loud in the ears. Her usually crisp, confident steps faltered as she paced in front of her desk.
Everything was unraveling.
Zanele had been too quiet. Not cold. Not rude. Just still.
Kay knew Zanele’s silences the way a soldier knows the hum of a sniper in the distance—stillness meant precision. Measured retaliation. Not vengeance. Worse: strategy.
And the board meeting set for Thursday?
That wasn’t routine.
That was war.
She checked her calendar, her inbox, her secure folder with Mandla—everything looked normal. But the walls were closing in. She could feel them breathing down her neck.
Her heart thudded as she grabbed her burner phone—the one Mandla insisted they both use only for certain exchanges.
She dialed.
He picked up on the third ring.
“Why are you calling me on this line?” Mandla's voice was low, cautious.
Kay didn’t bother with niceties. “They’ve called an emergency board meeting. Thursday. Something’s wrong.”
A pause.
“She knows,” Mandla said, flatly.
Kay froze. “What do you mean she knows?”
“I mean,” he sighed, “Zanele’s ahead of us. Someone tipped her off, or maybe she’s been tracking us longer than we realized. Either way, she’s moving—calmly, but fast.”
“You said we had more time. You said the transfers wouldn’t raise flags until the quarter closed.”
“I miscalculated.”
Kay felt the sting in her throat rise. “No. You underestimated her. You told me she was too obsessed with image, too proud to get her hands dirty.”
“She’s not dirty,” Mandla said sharply. “She’s methodical.”
Kay’s laugh was dry. “So now you admire her again?”
“I never stopped,” he snapped. “And now, because of your sloppy server access and your cousin’s name on paperwork, she’s got enough to bury us both.”
“Oh, don’t you dare blame this on me,” Kay hissed. “This wasn’t just about money. You wanted your son on the throne. You wanted to replace her.”
“That doesn’t mean you were supposed to be seen.”
“Well maybe if you hadn’t been so busy licking wounds about her ‘emasculating’ you in boardrooms, you would’ve planned this better!”
“Watch your tone, Kay.”
The silence that followed was sharp.
Then, in a voice that no longer needed her:
“Let’s not forget who made who. If this turns into a war of survival, don’t expect me to take a bullet for you.”
Kay’s stomach dropped.
“Mandla…”
“I’ll do what I must to protect what’s left of my name. And if that means cutting you loose, so be it.”
Click.
He hung up.
Kay stood there, the line dead in her ear. Her reflection in the glass door looked like someone she didn’t recognize. Disheveled. Cornered. Disposable.
With a cry of frustration, she swept a stack of papers off her desk. A glass fell, shattered, water bleeding across the polished wood.
She didn’t clean it up.
She didn’t even flinch.
---
Across the building, Zanele sat behind her desk, perfectly still.
Sipho stepped into her office, a manila folder in hand. “She’s unraveling. Security reports she screamed at an intern this morning and has locked her office since.”
Zanele nodded. “And Mandla?”
“He’s circling. Calling junior partners. Rebuilding alliances.”
She stood and walked to her shelf, pulling down a framed photo of her, Mandla, and the late Mr. Khumalo—taken the day they’d signed their first million-rand client. The ink had barely dried. They’d believed in each other then.
Zanele looked at her own smile in the frame. Young. Bright-eyed. Naïve.
She placed the photo face-down on the desk.
“Trigger the clause,” she said.
Sipho’s brow rose. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. As lead partner, I’m invoking fiduciary breach protocol. Notify compliance and the board. Freeze Mandla’s access to all pending deals and offsite financial systems. If they hesitate, remind them the offshore documents have already been reviewed.”
He nodded. “And the trust fund attempt?”
“We’ll file an injunction by morning. No asset transfer. Not until we’re done.”
Sipho smiled. “You move like you’re holding a blade behind your back.”
“I am,” she said. “But I’m also building something better.”
---
That night, Zanele stood alone in her penthouse, barefoot on cold tiles, wine untouched in her hand.
Her phone buzzed.
Thami.
She let it ring.
Not because she didn’t want to hear his voice.
But because she wanted it too much.
Her eyes drifted to the folder on her dining table.
Inside it: Kay’s child’s birth certificate. Mandla’s co-signature on a foreign property. Surveillance of meetings, of things done in shadows while she was carrying the weight of their empire.
Everything she needed to win.
Everything she never wanted to see.
The phone stopped ringing.
Silence returned.
Zanele set the wine glass down.
Kay was cracking.
Mandla was squirming.
And she—Zanele Moyo—was ascending.
- Writer
