The sound of the second envelope dropping onto the front porch wasn't loud, but to Sandra, it thundered like an earthquake.
She stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the small brown package lying beneath the old mat. It wasn't marked. No return address. But she didn't need one.
She knew.
She bent slowly and picked it up, hands trembling.
Inside, there was a single piece of paper.
A name was typed on it.
One word.
One person she had buried inside her memories for over a decade.
> "Nakazibwe."
Her father's other child.
The one he raised while abandoning Sandra and her family.
The half-sister who was never spoken of.
Her chest tightened.
Her fingers crumpled the page before she even realized she'd done it.
At J&M Holdings, James stood silently in his office, watching the city breathe below.
The storm he had seen forming in Sandra's life was now inches from their door. And this one wasn't made of rain.
It was press.
Leaks.
Reputation.
And family.
He pulled up a private message from a contact in media.
> "Your intern's father — David Namatovu — was spotted at the Revenue Tribunal yesterday. Story is being drafted for Monday headline."
James didn't answer.
He simply stared at the screen, then opened a locked drawer in his desk.
Inside: a folder marked "Containment: Phase 1"
He had used it once before — when a former partner tried to blackmail the company with an HR scandal.
He hadn't wanted to use it again.
But now?
He placed Sandra's father's name at the top of the file.
And whispered to himself, "You won't touch her. Not like this."
Immy stood in front of the mirror, applying eyeliner with slow, shaky hands.
Victor had messaged again:
> "Drinks tonight. No talk. Just you. Me. And silence."
She hated how much she still wanted to go.
Something in her knew Victor was dangerous. She felt it in the way he touched her elbow, the way he stared too long before answering questions. He never let her see his phone screen. Never called her by her name when they were alone.
Always "sweetheart." Always vague.
But she also remembered the way his hand felt wrapped around hers. The way he listened when she talked about dreams she hadn't told anyone else.
She wanted him.
Even if she couldn't trust him.
Sandra entered the J&M elevator with her head down.
Every passing staff member paused slightly longer when they looked at her now. Like they knew something. Like the air had changed around her.
When she reached the executive floor, James's assistant was already waiting outside the office.
"He wants to see you now."
Sandra nodded.
Walked in.
Closed the door.
He didn't look up from the file in his hands.
"You've seen the new message?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who sent it?"
"No."
He finally looked at her.
"You're not sure… or you're protecting someone?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I think they want the story out."
James leaned back.
"You have a sister."
Sandra nodded. "Half-sister."
"Do you know her?"
"No. Only the name."
He didn't ask how she felt.
He didn't ask what the name meant to her.
He simply stood up, walked to the cabinet, and pulled out a locked phone.
He typed in a number.
Then handed it to her.
"Read this."
She took it. The screen lit up with a message thread.
It was from one of James's private investigators.
> "Confirmed: David Namatovu has been reaching out to three publications. Offering a 'family expose' in exchange for protection in his tribunal case. Sandra's name has already been used in a teaser headline draft. Waiting for your instruction."
Sandra's eyes burned.
She placed the phone down.
Sat still.
James spoke quietly.
"I can bury the story. But it won't be cheap. And it won't be clean."
"I don't want you to clean it," she said. "I want to face it."
He studied her for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Then we do it your way."
That evening, the headline leaked early on Twitter.
> "CEO's Shadow: J&M Intern Linked to Fugitive Fraudster Father"
And within the hour, it spread.
Facebook groups.
WhatsApp statuses.
Ugandan gossip blogs.
Sandra stared at her phone as her photo appeared — the same one from her internship badge. Cropped, filtered, and now pasted next to a faded court mugshot of her father.
"Why are they calling him a fugitive?" she whispered to herself.
Immy sat beside her, holding her phone tightly.
"I didn't know," she said softly. "I swear, Sandra, I didn't know he was alive. I never talked to anyone."
Sandra didn't respond.
Her eyes were still fixed on the screen.
Then her phone buzzed.
A call from her uncle in Masaka.
Followed by a message from an old lecturer.
And then, finally—
One from James.
> "Come outside."
His car was waiting at the junction.
He didn't speak as she climbed in.
Didn't look at her.
He just drove.
Out of the city.
Toward Entebbe.
They didn't speak for nearly 20 minutes.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It was full.
Heavy with the things neither of them knew how to say.
Finally, she spoke.
"I want to disappear."
"No, you don't."
"I want to be no one. Just for one day."
He pulled into a quiet compound near a guesthouse.
No signboard.
No noise.
Just wind.
"You're not no one," he said.
"I feel like a scandal."
"You're not."
She turned to him.
"Then what am I, James?"
He looked at her, then leaned back in his seat.
"You're the only person I don't want the world to touch."
Meanwhile, Victor sat in his apartment, watching the fire spread.
Not literal fire.
But online chaos.
The headline had landed exactly as he hoped.
Sandra would break.
James would turn cold.
And if Immy stayed close enough…
He could take down the entire company.
From the inside.
But Immy wasn't stupid.
That night, as she lay in Victor's bed, staring at the ceiling, something shifted.
He had kissed her.
But never said her name.
He had touched her.
But never held her hand in public.
And when she asked him tonight, directly, "Do you know what's happening to Sandra?"
He smiled.
And said, "Isn't she always in trouble?"
That was the moment her stomach twisted.
And her heart began to wake up.
The next morning, Sandra arrived at J&M in plain clothes.
No badge.
No makeup.
She walked through reception, ignoring the stares.
Took the elevator to the top floor.
And entered the boardroom before anyone else.
She placed a manila folder on the main table.
Inside: a letter.
Resignation.
Voluntary.
But before she could leave, James entered.
Took one look at the folder.
Opened it.
Read it.
Closed it again.
Then tore it in half.
"I didn't ask you to run," he said.
"I'm not running," she replied.
"I didn't say go."
"You didn't say stay either."
He stepped closer.
And for the first time in weeks—
He looked hurt.
"I don't want you to leave."
She blinked.
Then whispered, "Why?"
His voice cracked.
"Because I've finally found something real. And I won't let them ruin it."