Eddie Zondi |link| File

His captain, a man named van der Merwe who smiled too often and laughed too loud, had asked Eddie to lunch two days ago. “You’re burning out, Zondi. Take leave. Visit your sister in Durban.” A friendly suggestion. A threat in a nice suit.

He turned and walked back into the rain. Behind him, Khanyi locked three deadbolts. Ahead, a city that had forgotten how to sleep, full of men who would kill to keep it that way. eddie zondi

He didn’t call it in. Not yet. The station was no longer neutral ground. He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a thumb drive—the ledger’s only digital copy. His daughter, Thandi, had scanned it at a cybercafé in Braamfontein. She didn’t know what it was. Eddie intended to keep it that way. His captain, a man named van der Merwe

She didn’t ask questions. That’s why he came. “And you?” Visit your sister in Durban

He handed her the thumb drive. “If I don’t call you by noon tomorrow, publish every page.”

Eddie touched the butt of his service weapon. “I’m going to go have a word with the man who bought my captain a new pool last Christmas.”

At a red light, a white Toyota Hilux pulled up beside him. Two men inside. Sunglasses at 4 a.m. Eddie’s hand moved to his hip. The light turned green. The Hilux didn’t move. Neither did Eddie.