Zara barely made it through the night. Sleep danced just out of reach, a cruel promise she couldn't claim. Her apartment in Kilimani felt smaller than usual—like the walls themselves were listening. She sat on the edge of her couch, the flash drive Wanjiru had given her clutched so tightly in her fist that her knuckles turned white.
What was she supposed to do with it? Trust Adrian? Bring it to the media? The police? Who could she believe when even her father's innocence had been buried beneath press statements and false evidence?
Her breath hitched as she stared at the government-issued laptop from her old job, then shoved it aside. Too risky. She dug out her battered university laptop from the back of her closet, praying it still had enough life to open one more secret.
When it booted with a groan, she exhaled. She inserted the drive.
A folder popped up: Athena Protocol. Inside: three files.
Contract_Framework_Redacted.pdf
Harambee_Transfers_Q4_Confidential.xlsx
VX-091-ATHENA.MP4 (encrypted)
She opened the spreadsheet first. Within seconds, the blood drained from her face.
The document tracked large financial transfers—deep, tangled, and deliberate. Money moved in loops from ghost firms to government departments, and then scattered into personal accounts. But what made her chest tighten was a name in the notes column: David Kimani—her father. He was listed as an authorized intermediary for a set of transactions dated weeks after his arrest.
That didn't make sense. He couldn't have authorized anything from behind bars.
Zara opened the PDF next. Legal jargon filled the screen, but one section stood out:
> "Meridian Analytics shall receive full digital oversight of infrastructural budget allocations related to Project Harambee, including, but not limited to, audit suppression rights and discretionary reallocation authority."
In plain terms? Meridian could edit records and suppress evidence. And they had.
Her phone buzzed. A new message from an unknown number: "Meet me in Conference Room 7. Don't tell anyone."
Zara blinked. The message vanished.
---
She arrived at Meridian Tower ten minutes later, wearing a neutral expression like armor. Conference Room 7 was at the far end of the floor. She slipped in, closed the door behind her.
Adrian was already there.
He didn't smile. Just motioned for her to sit.
"You opened the drive," he said.
She nodded. "Who framed my father?"
Adrian leaned forward. "The same people who gave him that contract to begin with. He thought he was joining a housing revolution. Instead, they made him the scapegoat for a billion-shilling scheme."
Her voice was tight. "You knew all this?"
"I knew parts. Now I know more. And so do you."
She slid the drive across the table. "Help me open the video. VX-091."
He stared at the file. "VX-091 is an internal tag. It usually refers to board-level meetings. Someone high up recorded that without authorization. That's dangerous."
"So is hiding the truth."
Adrian nodded slowly. Then scribbled an address on a slip of paper and slid it toward her.
"Midnight. Lavington. There's a place I trust. We'll open it there."
"What makes you think I trust you?" she asked.
He looked at her—not defensive, not pleading, just steady.
"Because you're smart enough to know you can't do this alone."
She picked up the slip. "Fine. But if you double-cross me—"
"I won't. Because this mess? I helped build it. And maybe helping you tear it down is the only way I sleep again."
---
That night, Nairobi was cloaked in a soft drizzle. Zara walked the streets of Lavington alone, hood up, nerves coiled like wire.
Adrian was already at the café, seated outside under a covered awning. He had a backpack with him.
"Come on," he said. "Let's watch the fire burn."
They plugged in the drive. He bypassed the encryption using a security key Zara didn't ask about. The video loaded.
Three men sat around a table—faces partly obscured, voices clear. One of them was her father.
"I won't be part of this," he said on the recording. "This isn't what we agreed to."
"You're in it, David," came a voice. "And if you back out, we bury you. Politically. Legally. Personally."
The others laughed.
Zara sat frozen, breath caught in her throat.
Adrian paused the video. "This changes everything."
She looked up at him. "Then let's change everything."
But even as she said it, a sleek black car parked across the street, its windows tinted, engine still running.
They weren't alone.
---