The screen dimmed.
But the image burned behind Sandra's eyes like it had been branded into her skull.
Victor.
Her father.
Shaking hands.
Smiling.
Like they hadn't just torn her life apart.
She sat frozen on the sofa, her phone trembling in her palm. James stood a few feet away, his arms folded tightly across his chest, watching her with a stillness that wasn't calm—it was waiting. Contained rage. Concern wrapped in cold.
He didn't ask.
Not yet.
She lifted her eyes slowly and turned the phone toward him.
He took one look at the photo and went completely still.
"Where did this come from?" he asked.
Her voice was hollow. "Someone sent it. No name. Just that."
He took the phone from her gently, studying it again.
It was unmistakable.
Victor in his signature navy suit.
Her father, looking ten years younger than he had last appeared, face slightly fuller, cleaner—rehabilitated.
Together.
In a hotel boardroom, shaking hands like two devils finalizing a pact.
James's lips pressed into a hard line.
"They've been working together this whole time," Sandra whispered. "My father didn't just come back. He was sent."
James's silence felt louder than any explosion.
Sandra stood up.
Paced.
Her hands flew through the air as if trying to release everything inside her.
"Do you understand what this means? I was bait. All this time. He didn't want reconciliation. He wanted access. To me. To you. To this company."
James placed the phone gently on the table and finally spoke.
"No more silence."
Sandra turned to him. "What?"
"I should've stopped him a long time ago."
She blinked. "You knew?"
James shook his head. "I suspected. But I didn't act. Not soon enough."
Sandra walked to the window, gripping the curtain so hard her knuckles turned white.
"I feel dirty."
"You're not."
"I let them use me."
"You didn't know."
"But I should have. I should've seen it."
James stepped toward her, carefully.
"They underestimated you. That's on them."
She turned back, eyes fierce.
"Then let's make them regret it."
And in that moment, James saw it—the storm she had become.
No more crying.
No more waiting.
Just fire.
Meanwhile, in a hotel lounge across town, Victor sat across from Richard Nyeko — Sandra's father.
The meeting was quiet, deliberate, and far too casual for what it truly was.
Victor sipped from a glass of whisky, fingers tapping lazily on the rim.
"You didn't tell me she'd dig this deep," he said.
Richard adjusted his tie, visibly uncomfortable. "She was never this determined before. I thought she'd avoid the mess."
Victor laughed. "You thought wrong. She's her mother's daughter. Agnes never backed down either."
Richard stiffened.
Victor leaned forward.
"You need to remind her what's at stake. That tribunal hearing won't stay quiet forever."
"I never asked for it to be public."
"You signed the petition yourself."
"That was your idea," Richard snapped.
Victor's eyes narrowed — not with anger, but with cold calculation.
"My idea is making both of us rich. Don't forget why you came to me."
Richard looked away.
Victor finished his drink and stood.
"If you can't control your daughter, I will."
He turned, walked out, and left Richard with shaking hands.
---
At J&M Holdings, James entered his private office like a thundercloud. He didn't greet anyone. Didn't stop for files. Just sat at his desk and opened his encrypted terminal.
He began rerouting funds.
Disabling Victor's executive accesses.
Calling in security protocols.
Then he made a call.
"Legal."
"Yes, sir?"
"I want Victor Mugisha's personal contracts reviewed. Today."
"All of them?"
"All. Of. Them."
He hung up.
His face was carved in stone.
Shinta watched from behind the glass wall, arms folded, expression unreadable.
She waited until he left the office, then stepped inside.
Quickly.
Silently.
Opened a drawer she had access to.
Took a small flash drive from her pocket.
Slid it into the terminal.
Typed rapidly.
Files popped up — names, numbers, transfer logs Victor had tried to hide.
She downloaded only what she needed.
Then closed everything exactly as she found it.
Before she left the room, she whispered under her breath:
"You picked the wrong girl to use, Victor."
Across the city, Immy sat on the edge of her bed, clutching her phone tightly.
She hadn't called Sandra in two days.
Not since she found out about Junior's disappearance.
Not since Sandra told her — with eyes like shattered glass — "You helped enough already."
Now, she was trying to piece together what she'd gotten herself into.
She remembered Victor's voice in the hotel bar.
How he had talked about Sandra like a pawn.
She remembered the conversation she wasn't meant to hear — the one between Victor and some man on the phone:
> "Once the board collapses, James will have no choice but to resign. Then we slide in the new leadership quietly. She'll be too distracted to notice."
And she remembered the way Victor held her hand that night — not like a man in love, but like a man marking his property.
A text came in.
It was from Victor.
> "Drinks tonight? Don't wear red. You look better when you're soft."
Immy stared at it for a long time.
Then deleted it.
She walked to her mirror.
Looked at her reflection.
And whispered:
"You've been stupid."
---
Sandra's hands moved fast across the kitchen counter.
She chopped onions, cleaned beans, stirred the pot. Junior sat at the table drawing quietly, his face calmer than the night before.
But every time Sandra looked at him, guilt rose again.
James sat on the verandah steps, typing on his phone.
She brought him tea.
He didn't look up.
"I'll find a way to shut Victor down," he said.
She sat beside him. "We'll do it together."
He paused.
Then looked at her — really looked.
"I want to ask you something."
She nodded.
"What do you want from me?"
Sandra blinked.
"I don't understand."
"After all this… after the mess, the silence, the betrayal… What do you want?"
Her voice was quiet.
"Not promises. Just presence."
James nodded.
"I can give that."
And for once, that was enough.
Until the knock came.
Three short knocks.
Sharp.
Calculated.
Sandra opened the door slowly.
Victor stood there.
Smiling.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't burned her world from the inside.
"Hello, Sandra," he said smoothly.
She didn't move. "What do you want?"
He stepped in without waiting for permission.
James was on his feet immediately, coming to the doorway.
Victor raised his hands.
"Relax, boss. I'm just here to talk."
James didn't speak.
Just stood behind Sandra, unmoving.
Victor looked at her, his voice dipping into the kind of charm that used to work.
"Listen… I made a few mistakes. We all did. But none of this changes the fact that I care about you."
Sandra's jaw clenched.
"You care about control. That's all you ever wanted."
He tilted his head. "I never forced you."
"No. You just manipulated everyone around me until I had nowhere else to look."
Victor's smile faded.
"That's unfair."
"What's unfair," Sandra said, stepping closer, "is using my father like a bargaining chip. Dragging my family's shame into headlines. Using my cousin. Using me."
Victor's voice sharpened.
"I didn't hear you complaining when James was handing you charity tasks and pretending to care."
James stepped forward.
"Leave."
But Sandra raised her hand, stopping James.
This was her moment.
Victor's eyes flashed.
"You think he's different? You think he'll protect you? He can't even protect himself. You're just another weakness."
Sandra's hand moved before she even thought.
The slap cracked through the air like a gunshot.
Victor stumbled back, touching his cheek, stunned.
"Get out," she said.
He stared at her.
Then at James.
Then he smirked.
"This isn't over."
And walked out.
James closed the door slowly.
Silence fell again.
Heavy.
Satisfying.
Sandra turned to James.
"I didn't need saving," she said softly.
James nodded.
"I know."
But he also knew…
She saved them both.