My head moves from side to side automatically, already denying the words Quincy hasn’t spoken yet. “No.”

He walks back to me, drops the phone on the table, and takes my hands. “There was an explosion.”

Heat boils through my veins and freezes over. I stare at Quincy in a silent stupor.

“I…” His Adam’s apple bobs, and his eyes blur behind a veil of moisture. “I’m sorry.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “Gabriel was in the building.”

I can’t think. I can’t process what he said. Only my body is reacting to the vicious words, starting to shake uncontrollably.

“Rhett is on his way with a police officer.” He blinks several times, but his tears overflow. “You’ve got to be strong, now, stronger than you’ve ever been.”

I don’t feel strong. I’m not strong enough for this. This can’t be happening. From afar, someone calls my name.

“Val.” Quincy gives my shoulders a gentle shake. “I’m going to help you upstairs. You’re going to get dressed.”

I move on autopilot. It’s all I can do to keep myself together, but like a mended vase full of glued cracks, my foundation is already weak. Nothing is coherent, and nothing is powerful enough to protect me from this onslaught. It’s Quincy’s steady hand that gives me guidance, leaving me in the dressing room to finish a mundane routine so I can face the world.

Randomly, I take clothes from hangers, not giving thought to color or style. I don’t remember dressing or brushing my teeth, but my breath tastes like mint, and my hair is untangled when there’s a soft knock on the bedroom door. I open it to find Rhett standing on the doorstep, looking forlorn and haggard. His shoulders shake as he takes me into a brief hug, taking care not to press on my wound.

“There’s a sergeant downstairs,” he says when he manages to regain his composure.

“I know.”

Taking my arm, he helps me to the lounge where a woman in a blue uniform waits. Looking at her young face, I feel sorry for her. What a terrible task.

“Mrs. Louw,” her voice is steady, respectful, and filled with sympathy, “I’m terribly sorry to inform you that your husband perished in an explosion this morning.”

Perished. What a strange choice of words. Like food or a lifeless commodity. “Won’t you please sit?” I take a chair because my legs won’t carry me.

She perches on the edge of the sofa and glances at Quincy and Rhett who hover at my side. “Do you prefer we speak in private?”

I follow her gaze. Like a watch losing time, I’m a second late in making intellectual connections. “Oh,” I say as I catch her drift. “They’re employees and friends. You can speak in front of them.”

“Very well.” She shifts her attention back to me. “An investigation will have to be conducted, but we suspect foul play.”

Something inside my chest pinches. “You mean it wasn’t an accident?”

“We found evidence that says otherwise.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Plastic explosives.”

I clamp a hand over my mouth. “Oh, my God.”

“Your husband had many enemies.” She says it like a statement. “Did he have any threats, of late?”

I can think of a hundred people off the top of my head who would’ve threatened Gabriel, especially with Magda gone, but that’s not where my thoughts are dwelling. “The body.” I sink my nails into the fabric of the seat when I think of him blown to pieces. “Did you find a body?”

“Not yet, but the debris hasn’t been combed through.”

I look at Rhett. “He could’ve gotten out.”

Rhett’s look is haunted. “I saw him go inside, Val. There’s no other way out. No backdoor or windows.”

Anger surges in me. “What the hell was he doing there? Why did he go back?”

Rhett places a hand on my shoulder and says gently, “He had to deal with the business after Magda’s death.”

The sergeant clears her throat. “What time did your husband leave the house this morning?”

I turn back to her. “I don’t know. When I woke up he was gone.”

“We left at six,” Rhett said, “as I already told you.”

She ignores him, keeping her attention fixed on me. “I’ll let you know what we find.” She reaches inside her pocket and pulls out a business card. “In the meantime, if you have any questions or information you think may be helpful, don’t hesitate to call.”

I take the card with numb fingers, staring at the name without seeing it.

“Good day, Mrs. Louw.” She gets to her feet. “Again, I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

Rhett sees her to the door while Quincy stays at my side.

“Who did it?” I ask Rhett when he returns.

“If I knew, Val, he’d already be dead.”

I hug myself to contain my shaking. “Someone knew he’d be going there.”

“Everyone knew,” Quincy said with a note of despair, “and the sergeant is right. He had many enemies.” His tone darkens. “As do you.”

“He’s not dead. I don’t believe it.”

“Val.” Rhett goes down on one knee, putting us on eye level. “He’s gone. He walked in there, and two minutes later an explosion rocked the place.” He shakes his head. “I’m so fucking sorry. No one and nothing could’ve survived the blast.”

The connection between us is still there. Could it be like a ghost limb? Would I feel the itch long after my soul mate has been amputated, like with my thumb?

Before I can analyze my thoughts, Charlie comes downstairs wearing his batman T-shirt and pajama bottoms. I go to him with outstretched arms, needing his comfort even if he doesn’t understand. I lean my head against his chest and whisper, “Gabriel’s gone.”

“Gabriel’s go–gone.”

At the affirmation, my whole being shatters. My legs cave in. Like a lump of dead weight, I plummet to the floor. All I want is to curl up and stay there, but at witnessing my distress, Charlie starts pulling at his hair. He needs me. Connor needs me. In a flash, Quincy and Rhett are there, helping me to my feet.

“We’ve got you,” Quincy says. “You’re going to be all right, do you hear me? It’ll take time, but eventually you’ll be all right.”

The words don’t soothe me, because I don’t believe them. Without Gabriel, nothing will be all right, so I put my strength in hope, in this strange connection that still seems to simmer between us.

“We’ll find him,” I say to Quincy, “and then I’ll be fine.”

A look passes between him and Rhett.

“There’s been too many damn funerals in this family,” Rhett grits out, “and I’ll be damned if we add another one to it.” He marches me over to the kitchen and calls for Charlie to follow. “First things first. You have to eat. I’m cooking.”

* * *

The police give clearance for the Brixton office two months after the explosion. It didn’t take two months to sift through the debris for evidence. They just didn’t have the staff to attend to it before. What they give me is a report and a plastic bag with Gabriel’s distorted wedding band, the only item they salvaged. This token––his ring––announces that he’s gone for real. Had I not believed so strongly he’s alive, I would’ve collapsed on the spot. The police report states human remains were recovered, but are unidentifiable. The only link to the body destroyed in the blast, confirming the deceased’s identity, is the platinum ring. Officially, Gabriel has been declared dead. Officially, I’m a widow.

Gabriel has always been a meticulous planner. It doesn’t come as a surprise that he has his funeral organized to the last detail, leaving nothing for me to do but mourn. Dressed in black, with Kris by my side, I stand at the edge of a grave as an empty coffin is lowered into the ground. As long as Gabriel is not inside that coffin there’s a chance he’s alive. Until I see his body with my own eyes, I refuse to believe it. Dr. Engelbrecht says I’m in denial, but he doesn’t feel the bond I feel with Gabriel. He says denial is the first step in the grieving process, and it’s perfectly normal, but he doesn’t know I’ve been grieving since I turned thirteen. If he knew my intentions, he’d say nothing about what I feel is normal and I should be locked up in an asylum. I intend to spend every cent at my disposal to find the man who stole me. In my heart, I’m certain he’s alive, even as Rhett assures me every day that Gabriel entered that building. Rhett went as far as to get the tapes from the street security cameras that monitor the building, showing Gabriel’s broad shoulders disappear through the door. My husband must be Houdini, then.

A touch on my arm pulls me back to the present. Diogo’s face hovers over mine.

“I’m sorry for your loss, my dear. Now that you’re alone, let me know if you need a shoulder to cry on.”

Rhett, who’s never far, steps forward, but I hold up a hand. “No, thanks. I tend to avoid rapists.”

Kris jerks with a start. She looks like she wants to say something, but Diogo places his body between us, blocking her from my view.

He laughs, the sound soft and hollow. “Careful with the accusations. I may decide to sue you for name slandering.”

“I’d never make an accusation without the evidence to prove it. As it happens, I have the footage from the security cameras showing you with your dick hanging out trying to jump me against the wall. Isn’t that how you put it?”

He glances around and lowers his voice. “No need to get your claws out. I’m only offering my support.”

“Your support is unwanted. If I find you and your support anywhere near me again, I’ll splash that tape in all the places that matter and turn you into an overnight news celebrity. I’m sure one of the boys will enjoy jumping your ass against a prison wall.”

He points a finger at me. “Watch it, little girl. I don’t take to threats kindly.”

“Oh, it’s not a threat. It’s your new reality. If anything happens to me or anyone related to me, those files go footloose. Call it my personal insurance against jumpers like you.”

Rhett and Quincy are enjoying the show, but their smiles don’t diminish the ferocity of the warning looks they fix on Diogo.

Fire shoots from his eyes. All that’s missing is smoke billowing from his nostrils as he twirls around and stalks away.

Inside, I’m shaking. Of course, it’s all bluff. I don’t have the tape. I don’t enjoy playing this game, but I expected it. When someone as powerful and wealthy as Gabriel goes down, the vultures move in.

Captain Barnard, who’s standing nearby, walks up. “I’m sorry about your husband.”

“Thank you.”

“This isn’t the time or place, but call me in a couple of weeks if you’d like to clean up the loan shark business. We’ll strike a deal. I’ll offer you immunity in exchange for information.”

“I don’t need immunity. I’m not guilty of anything.”

“Of course not. I sense an honest, good woman in you, Mrs. Louw. I hope you’ll do the right thing.”

“So do I.”

When he tips his hat and walks off, Michael and Elizabeth Roux step up to offer their condolences.

Elizabeth stares after Barnard. When he’s out of earshot, she says, “What did Diogo want? I bet it wasn’t to offer sympathy.”

“Nothing,” I say.

“If he as much as looks at you again…” Michael leaves the threat hanging.

“Don’t worry.” Quincy takes my arm and pulls me away from Michael. “We’ve got her back.”

“Anything you need,” Michael continues with an unfazed air, “you just have to say. Elizabeth and I are here for you.”

“You’re coming to our place for dinner on Friday night,” Elizabeth says.

“That’s very kind, but––”

“No buts. I’m cooking, so it won’t be anything fancy. Just a dinner between friends where you can be yourself and let your guard down.” She glances at Rhett and Quincy. “Since they don’t seem to let you pee alone, bring your bodyguards, too.”

“They’re not bodyguards, not any longer.”

“Whatever.” She turns to the men. “You’re more than welcome, guys. Take care of her.” She kisses my cheek. “Call me anytime you need a friend.”

“Any last words?” the minister asks as the crowd starts to thin around the grave.

I stare at the heap of freshly turned earth. “This isn’t over, Gabriel Louw.”

The minister gives me a piercing look, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s probably happy this is over so he can go home to his comfortable slippers and newspaper.

“Ready?” Rhett asks.

“Yes.” I turn away from the open hole in the ground.

“Where to? Home?”

Gabriel stipulated in his funeral plan there was to be no reception after the ceremony. I’m thankful I don’t have to put on a show for the vultures.

“I’m going past the clinic to see Connor.”

“I’ll drive.”

“I have a car.”

“I’m not letting you go alone.” He says it like he means business.

Kris comes around and takes my hand. “He’s right. We’ll both come with you, and then I’m cooking you dinner at home.”

I only nod gratefully. I can do with her support, even if she’s already given me so much.

As we make our way to the cars, there’s a part of me that stays behind in that graveyard. It hurts, but not the kind of hurt when you lose the love of your life. It hurts with loneliness, and at the same time it burns with hope. Tomorrow morning I’ll take Gabriel’s ring to a jeweler to have it fixed and polished.

* * *

Throwing my full weight into dealing with the aftermath of Gabriel’s disappearance as I came to call it helps me cope. There’s enough to keep me busy so my mind doesn’t dwell on his absence. For starters, there’s Connor. There’s always Charlie. There’s my work at Kris’ practice, which I put on hold. We agreed to employ an assistant, and now that Kris is earning more she can afford to employ another vet. The most challenging tasks are taking care of Gabriel’s estate and the business.

As it turns out, I inherited everything––the houses, the cars, the business, the assets … and the debt. I don’t think Gabriel realized the dire situation the business was in. The Louws lived well above their means, and bribe money made a big dent in their coffers. Magda did a good job of hiding it. Because of the ongoing investigation into the sabotage, Gabriel’s assets and estate are frozen. My only income is the salary Kris pays me. Thank God for paid maternity leave.

The house will have to go. There’s no way I can sustain it on my salary. The mortgage Magda took out on her house in Parktown to keep a drowning business afloat requires that the house be sold. One week later, both houses go on the market. I call Sylvia to ask if she wants anything––maybe there’s something of sentimental value to her––but she slams the phone down in my ear.

The big, old place in Parktown has to be packed up. It takes Kris, Charlie, Quincy, Rhett, and me a full week of strenuous labor to wrap precious crockery and glassware in paper and ship sealed boxes to antique stores. I use the money I get for the furniture and houseware to pay off the most pressing debts. That same week, to my great joy, Connor comes home.

Our house is next. As soon as I secure a buyer, I rent a modest house in Northriding, a cheaper area, but still in the safer, northern suburbs. Then comes the hard part of paying off the staff. Marie left when Magda passed away, and Gabriel got rid of the guards who remained on Magda’s property. I terminate the contracts with ours and pay them a bonus to soften the blow. When I propose the settlement to Rhett and Quincy, they stubbornly refuse.

“I can’t pay you what Gabriel paid you,” I say. “In fact, I can’t pay you at all.”

Quincy crosses his arms. “I’ll settle for profit share.”

“In what? The loan shark business is in so much trouble it’ll take years to recover.”

“Then I’ll settle for years.” He winks. “What can I say? I have faith in your business ability.”

“I’m with him,” Rhett says.

“It’s a foolish decision, guys.”

Rhett raises a brow. “This is what Gabriel would’ve wanted.”

“What about what you want?”

“Profit sharing sounds good to me.”

With that, our discussion is settled. Rhett and Quincy stay on to protect me and Connor, sharing one of the two bedrooms in my tiny, rented house, while Charlie, Connor, and I share the other. It isn’t right, but no matter how much I argue and bargain, they won’t change their minds.

With the move behind us, I dive headfirst into the business. Not knowing enough about finance, it soon becomes clear that I’m going to need a financial adviser to help me navigate through the minefield of contracts and debts. Michael and Elizabeth are a great help, going through the legal jargon and explaining things to me in simple terms. Gabriel was busy after Magda’s death. He cleared the illegal portion of the business, cutting loose the government and police officials who received regular kickbacks from Magda. He settled territorial squabbles by putting contracts in place that operate on a commission basis. Conveniently, all evidence of corruption and crime was destroyed in the explosion that leveled the Brixton office, leaving me as safe as I can be in this city and business. If I had dirt on the big shot politicians and judges, I wouldn’t have lived long. Disturbingly, Christopher, the hypnosis psychologist, disappeared after Magda’s death. I can only hope he fled for his life and not that Gabriel revenged his underhanded dealings. In any event, all traces of Magda and her cronies are wiped out. What is left is the legal side, albeit a business I don’t care to exploit. It still involves using crippling interest rates to rob already poor people.

Acting against Michael’s advice, I lower the interest rates across the board and write off the debt of those debtors who already paid interest equal to their capital loans. There will be no more bone breaking and violence. I close all the offices except for the one in Auckland Park to save expenses and retrench the staff. Magda hired them, and I don’t trust them. Rhett and Quincy help out with the bookkeeping, even if it isn’t their forte. We can’t carry on like this indefinitely, and I can’t afford to simply shut everything down. I need money to pay Rhett and Quincy, and I need to survive. I need a future for my child and brother. I need lots of money if I’m to find Gabriel. What I need is a change of direction and a CFO. The problem is that I can’t afford to employ a decent CFO. I need a different strategy. I run my idea past Michael when he pops in to see how I’m coping, which has more or less become his Monday ritual.

“I need a bright, young university graduate with ambition and nothing to lose.”

Michael regards me from across the desk in my office with a doubtful gaze. “On a minimal wage?”

“Don’t forget the profit sharing.”

“Your business is unstable, and you’re an unknown player with no connections. The country’s economy and politics are in shambles. No local or foreign investor will give you the time of day. What you should do is collect the interest from your active lendings.”

I glance at Charlie who’s playing cards at a table in the corner and lower my voice. “I’m not going to put people out of their houses or slit their throats if they can’t pay.”

“What are you going to do? I assure you, the majority won’t pay unless you put the fear of the devil in them.”

“Write it off as bad debt.”

He taps his fingers on the desk. “You’re not running a charity, Val.”

“I won’t do to others what happened to me.”

He sighs heavily, leans back, and straightens his tie. “Your intentions are noble, but you’re heading for bankruptcy.”

I rub my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “I know.” This is more frightening than I thought, but I won’t sink to the level of crime or violence. Never.

“Why don’t you just accept my offer?”

Connor starts fussing in his carrycot on the carpet next to me. I pick him up and throw a cotton blanket over my shoulder so I can feed him discreetly. I don’t have an issue with public feeding, but if Gabriel didn’t want Michael to kiss my hand, I think he would’ve been jealous of sharing the intimate image of Connor on my breast, and it’s extremely important to me to protect Gabriel’s feelings, even in his absence. Especially in his absence.

“Val?” Michael raises a brow, reminding me he’s still expecting an answer.

“I can’t take your money.” Michael kindly offered to take care of me and Connor as a way of paying his last respects to Gabriel, but my pride will never allow me. I have to make it on my own. This is my mess to sort out.

He sighs again. “You’re adamant about this, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have a contact at the business school. I’ll speak to him and see if he knows any suitable candidates.”

My smile is all teeth. “Thank you.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He gets to his feet. “If you pay peanuts…”

“Yes, yes, I know.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t want a monkey. I want a clever worker who’ll help me grow the tree to harvest the bananas in good time.”

He makes a face. “That’s the worst analogy I’ve ever heard. Please don’t mention that in your interview.”

“You brought up the peanuts.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I have to go. Dinner, our place, Friday night?”

Like every other Friday night, I accept. Our dinner dates became a standing arrangement, just as Saturday nights at Kris’ place turned into a weekly institution. Charlie, Rhett, and Quincy are always included. I can’t go anywhere without them, anyway. It’s my friends’ way of taking care of me, and sometimes those nights are all that keep me sane. I miss Gabriel with brutal intensity. Every day without him is torture. Work keeps my mind off him during the day, but it’s at night, alone in bed, that I break a little more with each passing hour.

Michael kisses me on the forehead. “Hang in there. It gets better.”

I can only nod. If I speak, my voice may break. I wave goodbye as he blows me a kiss from the door and calls out a greeting to Charlie.

Quincy walks in as he leaves. “I brought lunch.” He places a plastic container with a fork on my desk and another one on Charlie’s. “Pasta and cheese salad.”

The salads are his and Rhett’s humble effort at cutting costs. I know they miss their double burger take-outs.

Blinking away the tears that always come when I think of Gabriel, I give him a grateful smile. “Whatever would I do without you?”

He winks. “You’re welcome. When that little man has done eating I’ll take him for a stroll so Rhett can do the vacuuming.”

“I can do the vacuuming.”

“No sweat. You’re busy.”

Connor has stopped suckling. He’s about to fall asleep on my breast, so I remove him gently and adjust my clothes. “You don’t need to coddle Connor. He’ll probably sleep right through the vacuuming.”

Quincy looks at me as if I’m mad. “With that noise? You can’t expose his ears to that. Nah, give him here.” He takes my little bundle, sniffs his butt, and declares solemnly, “He’s clean,” before buckling him into his stroller and tucking a blanket around his body. He adjusts the umbrella that attaches to the side of the stroller and pulls the protective plastic cover over the hood.

“For the pollution,” he says, taping a disposable hospital mask over the holes of the breathing gap.

While I dig into my salad, he loads a baby bag with diapers, wet wipes, a bottle of expressed milk in an insulation tube, a rattle, and a burb cloth. Lastly, he adds a variety of pacifiers, probably all the models on the market. I don’t know why he still bothers, because Connor always refuses them. By the time he’s ready, Rhett walks in with the vacuum cleaner.

Rhett drops the vacuum and stalks to the stroller. “He’s not covered enough.” He takes his mobile phone from his pocket and checks the weather. “It’s only twenty degrees with fifteen kilometers of wind.” He starts unfastening the plastic cover. “Put another blanket and a beanie.”

“He’ll be too hot under the plastic,” Quincy protests.

“Ho–hot,” Charlie says.

“He’ll get sick with the wind coming through the gaps. I told you we should’ve taken the Chicco model. The plastic fitted all the way to the footrest.”

“But that one had four wheels, and my research stated clearly that three wheels are easier to manipulate. Don’t forget that Maclaren is better on the baby’s back.”

“The frame can’t fit a carrycot or car seat like the Chicco.”

“Guys,” I get up and round my desk, “Connor is happy. Look at him.”

They both look down into the face of innocence. Connor is sleeping, his little chest moving with strong, steady breaths. With that angelic face you’d never think he could lift the roof with clenched fists and angry bawling when his food doesn’t come fast enough.

You’re so much like your daddy.

Rhett slams a hand on his forehead. “Dickhead, Quincy. You haven’t changed him before he fell asleep, and now he’ll get diaper rash.”

“You think?” Quincy shoots me a worried look.

“He’ll be fine.” I push Quincy toward the door. “Bring him back if he starts crying, and be safe.”

If it weren’t Quincy, I would’ve objected to taking my baby for a walk to the park opposite the street. It’s much too dangerous to walk outside, even in broad daylight, but Quincy is not the average man, plus he’s armed with three guns, a couple of knives, and Bruno.

The minute they’re gone, Rhett starts vacuuming with the speed of superman while I go back to the books, pouring over balance statements.

He nudges my feet with the vacuum pipe. “Lift.”

I cross my ankles on the desk, waiting for him to finish. The gun he always carries in the back of his waistband shows as the hem of his sweater shifts up with his movements.

When he switches off the machine, I say, “I’d like to start training again.” Even if Gabriel cleaned up the business, it still remains risky because of the old stigma. People may hold vendettas. Besides, the city will always be dangerous.

He props his hands on his hips. “I agree.”

His easy agreement surprises me. I expected him to argue, but the fact that he doesn’t, tells me how volatile and vulnerable my situation is.

“What does Dr. Engelbrecht say?” he asks. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Tonight.” He seals the deal with a nod. “I’m going to check on Quincy.” He pulls the gun from his waistband and leaves it on my desk. “Lock the door behind me.”

I haven’t been to Berea since the day Jerry gave me a stolen car, but it doesn’t mean Berea won’t come to me.

* * *

I have an hourly interview with the five candidates for the CFO position I got from Michael’s contact at the business school. Rhett is rocking Connor, and Quincy is playing darts with Charlie in my office. Not the most professional image, but both men refused to budge for the interviews.

The first man is in his fifties. He lost his job when the company he worked for folded, and at his age, especially with the high unemployment rate and affirmative action law, it will be tough for him to find another job. As he has a family to feed, my terms don’t work for him, so we move on to number two.

A young graduate, I take an immediate like to his enthusiasm. He’s not overly keen on working for a minimal wage with the long-term, uncertain promise of risky profit shares, but before he can make up his mind, Rhett shakes his head.

“Uh-uh. He won’t do.”

I turn in my chair. “Excuse me?”

“He’s a no go.” Rhett takes a threatening stance, which has the guy opposite me cower.

“Can you please give us a second?” I direct the young man to the entrance and close the door. “What are you doing, Rhett?”

“He was checking out your boobs.”

“What?”

“He looked at you in that way.”

“I agree,” Quincy chirps in. “He won’t do.”

“Jeez, guys, give me a break. I’m trying to employ someone for the lowest of salaries to help us make big money.”

They both give me their obstinate stares.

“Can we just get through the interviews without any comments from you?”

Neither answers.

I sigh and stick my head around the doorframe. “You can come back in.”

The young man gives me an apologetic smile. “I thought about it while I waited, and I’m sorry, but it’s not for me.”

He leaves without saying goodbye.

“Now look what you’ve done,” I exclaim on a huff.

They look too damn pleased with themselves, as if they fought a wolf off a lamb.

* * *

For far too long, I avoided the Brixton site. I choose a Saturday when I can leave Charlie and Connor with Kris. I don’t want either of them to witness this.

Quincy and Rhett flank me next to the second-hand Honda I took possession of this morning. I sold the Porsche to minimize expenses. The three of us stare at the destroyed building. Emotions float between us. Of all the people in the world, they’re the only two who understand what I feel, because they must be feeling a part of it. Rhett takes a shaky breath. He was guarding the street when the blast hit. The roof and parts of the walls are missing. What used to be the windows and door are gaping holes, revealing an expanse of blackness inside.

When I take the first step, the guys follow. They let me go at my own tempo, staying a step behind. The power of the destruction is devastating. Going through the doorframe is like walking into a vortex of death. Everything is a shade of black––shiny onyx and matt charcoal with smears of greasy oil. Guilt suffocates me. I wanted a way out. At some point, especially during the early days, I would’ve wished for this. Not so, now. I only want Gabriel back. Broken filing cabinets lay on their sides, their drawers flung out. The cushionless frameworks of upside-down chairs surround us. It’s like standing in the eye of a twister of pain. My heart rate spikes, and my breathing quickens.

“There’s nothing for us here,” I whisper.

“Let’s get her the fuck out.” Rhett turns me in the opposite direction and propels me through what used to be the door.

In the street, I gulp in air, fighting to contain the panic attack. Feeling sick, I rest my hands on my knees.

“It was a bad idea to come,” Rhett says.

Quincy hands me a tissue. “She needed the closure.”

This isn’t my closure. This is only the beginning. If it’s the last thing I do, I will find Gabriel. I just need to make some damn money.

A scruffy pair of heavy-duty, construction boots fall in my line of vision.

“Hey,” Quincy draws his gun, “stop right there.”

My gaze trails up over mustard-colored pants and a white shirt with oil stains to a round face supported on a double chin.

“Howzit, Val?”

I wipe my mouth and straighten. “Hello, Lambert.”

“You know Roos?” Rhett asks with a hint of surprise.

It’s Lambert who answers. “We’re childhood friends. Grew up together in the hood.”

I never expected to see him again. “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to say I’m sorry.” He looks at his feet. “I heard you married big.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For never saying something.”

“Who told you?”

“Marvin. Said he’d kill me if I open my flytrap, and if he couldn’t get to me, Mr. Louw’s people would.”

“It’s history, now.”

Quincy and Rhett’s heads turn between us. I want to leave the past in the past, not flaunt it at their feet.

“Does that mean you forgive me?”

“You didn’t have a choice, Lambert. There’s nothing to forgive.”

“You’re not going to come with your goons,” he looks at Rhett and Quincy, “and shoot me in the back while I’m sleeping?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls on the balls of his feet, still not meeting my eyes.

“Goodbye, Lambert.”

“Yeah. Cheers, I guess.”

Rhett gives him a look that says, ‘Don’t fuck with me,’ as we walk back to the car.

“Who’s he?” Quincy asks.

“My almost-fiancé.”

“Jesus. Good riddance,” Rhett mumbles. “If he looks in your direction again, I’ll put a bullet in his––”

“No more violence,” I say.

“I was going to say a bullet in his big toe, out of self-defense, of course, if he attacks.”

I can only smile as Rhett holds the door for me.

“I wonder where he could hide?” I muse to myself as I start the engine.

“Your almost-fiancé?” Quincy asks.

“Gabriel.”

A thick silence descends on the vehicle. Neither of my companions says a word.

At home, I work out in the gym, building my strength and endurance as I do every day now, and enjoy the luxury of a long, uninterrupted shower with no baby fussing or hungry hurls before we head out to Kris’ place for dinner and to pick up Charlie and Connor. When I step into the kitchen, Quincy and Rhett are leaning on the counter, their arms crossed.

“I know this look.” I prop my hands on my hips. “What have I done?”

“We think it’s time you go on a date,” Quincy says.

“Whoa. I thought men were strictly forbidden.”

“Assholes are. The others who aren’t assholes have to pass a test.”

I huff. “Thanks for offering your assistance, but I don’t need a date.”

“We know a guy––” Rhett begins.

“What are you?” I tap my foot in annoyance. “A dating service?”

“It’ll do you good,” Quincy says.

“No, thanks. Can we go? Kris made chicken a la king, and I’m starving.”

Rhett is nothing if not insistent when he wants to be. “Why not?”

I lift my left hand and splay my fingers to show my wedding ring. “Because I’m married.”

“Val,” there’s a plea in Quincy’s voice, “you’re widowed.”

“One date,” Rhett says. “If you don’t like the guy, we’ll find someone else.”

“Thanks for your concern, but if I need an escort service, I’ll let you know.”

I don’t give them time to answer. I stride to the garage as if I don’t have a care in the world when I’m tearing up inside. I can’t stop hurting. I can’t stop wanting Gabriel back. Three months have passed, and I haven’t made any headway in tracing him. I did my own internet searches and asked around, but nobody has seen Gabriel since the morning of the explosion. I need a PI. For that, I need money, and for money I need the business to work. I refuse to give up on Gabriel.

“All in good time,” I say to myself.

“Yes,” Quincy agrees eagerly. “In good time.”

He has no idea.

* * *

Another Christmas comes and goes. Kris employs a new practice manager. We agreed it’s better that I resign to focus on my inherited business. It takes me four months to understand the funds in which Gabriel invested the capital and return on investments, and another month to analyze them. A small, maverick type stockbroker company, McGregor and Harris, made the best return at a growth of twenty-five percent. The bank is paying a measly one percent on our tied capital, and our long-term investment policies are losing money at minus eight percent.

I call McGregor and Harris and set up a meeting with one of the two shareholders, Herman Harris. Their office is a humble room in a brand-new office block in Midrand. Harris gives my guys, as I came to call Quincy, Rhett, Charlie, and Connor, a curious look when we pile up in the narrow hallway in front of his door.

“Charlie and I’ll take Bruno for a walk,” Rhett offers, taking Connor from Quincy’s arms.

Harris stares at my baby. “You call him Bruno?”

“That’s the dog,” I explain.

“Wow.” He scratches his head. “You brought a dog, too?”

I shrug. “My entourage.”

“Come in.” He steps aside. “We only have two visitor’s chairs.”

“That’ll be enough.”

I study Harris as he directs us to two office chairs. He’s a lot younger than I expected. Definitely still in his twenties.

When Quincy and I have taken our seats, I dive straight into business. “Mr. Harris, you’ve––”

“Herman, please.” He runs a hand over his suit. “I’m a casual guy. I only dressed up for this meeting. Usually I’m in a T-shirt and jeans.”

“Thank you, although, it wasn’t necessary. I don’t mind casual. As I was saying, you’ve been running one of my husband’s investment funds for the past five years.”

“My condolences. My partner and I were shocked when we heard the news.”

“Yes. How do you make twenty-five percent when other companies make five?”

“Your late husband gave us a small amount of money to invest at high risk. The high risk paid off.”

“You play the stock market exceptionally well.”

“We study the trends and know how to predict them.” His eyes sparkle. This is clearly his passion. “All our clients are low capital, high risk investors, which allows us to play around quite a bit. We invest the combined capital of our clients by buying up low-cost shares that show potential for big growth.”

“How does your process work?”

“If I tell you, I have to kill you.” He laughs at his own joke.

“What I mean to ask is how can you be sure of your predictions?”

He swivels a big computer flat screen toward me. “We wrote a software program that takes various internal and external socio-economic and political factors into consideration. It’s better than any other software program out there. It maps trends we can analyze and feed back into the program, always bettering itself. Then there’s this.” He wiggles his fingers. “The magic touch. Intuition. I have a nose for these things.”

“I have a proposition for you. I want you to scrap the trust fund management fee you charge us.”

He scrunches up his nose. “You want us to manage your investment for free?”

“Not for free. I’m prepared to pay you ten percent of the profit you make on our invested capital.”

He laughs and scratches his head. “That’s a clever business proposition, but ten percent of what you earn in profit won’t cover our fee.”

“What would you say if I told you I want to move all of our investments to your company?” By law, I can’t cash out the money before the investment term is up, but I can transfer it to a different investment fund.

He sits up straighter. “All of it?”

“Everything.”

“How much are we talking about, exactly?”

I take out my phone and email him the document with our investment summary I prepared before the meeting. He opens the message when it pings on his computer screen, his eyes moving from left to right as he reads. When he gets to the bottom, his mouth hangs open.

He looks back at me. “All of this?”

“Herman, I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t have the cash flow to pay your fee. In fact, I don’t even have the money for the monthly investment debit order. If I don’t take a risk, and I mean a huge risk, I’ll lose everything. You may not lose much when one of your small investors goes under, but you can win so much more if you get this right. The way I look at it, it’s a win-win for us both. Besides, I believe good, hard work should be rewarded, and I like what I’ve seen of your work so far.”

Quincy speaks for the first time. “It’s a young company, Val. You don’t know if they’re going to make it.”

“I don’t know if we’re going to make it, either. Magda’s company came from Gabriel’s father’s father, but it’s not the same company, any longer. With all the changes I implemented, it’s as rookie as it gets. At least this way Herman and I are both personally invested.”

“I love your balls.” Herman gives me a look of approval.

This could be the biggest business mistake of my life, but since we stopped killing and threatening, our debtors aren’t paying, just like Michael predicted. It’s either this risk or closing our doors.

“Is that a yes?” I ask.

“Deal.”

He extends a hand, and we shake on it.

“I’ll have the paperwork drawn up,” he says.

Less than fifteen minutes after entering the office, we leave, adrenalin pumping through my veins.

“Damn, Val.” Quincy shakes his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I.” Quincy’s profit is on the line too. “By the way, I have something for you and Rhett.” I take the contract from my laptop bag and hand it to him.

After reading, he looks at me much like Herman did, his mouth agape. “Twenty-five percent?”

“Yep. We’re splitting it four ways––me, you, Rhett, and our future CFO, if we ever find someone willing to work for dubious profit shares.”

He lowers the paper. “It’s too much. The company is yours.”

“We’re equal partners, all of us.”

“But you have Charlie and Connor to take care of.”

“One day you’ll have your own family to care for. Let’s just hope the gamble works.”

Rhett and Charlie, who spotted us waiting by the car, return with Connor and Bruno.

“Come on,” I say. “We’re going out.”

“Out?” Rhett bends his knees to put us on eye level. “Out where?”

“Wherever you want to go. We have shit to celebrate.”

“Val!” Rhett frowns at me. “Don’t cuss in front of Connor. What celebration?”

“Your contract.” I give him the piece of paper. “Sign on the dotted line so we can go.”

He gapes at me as if I have alien antennas on my head.

I strap Connor into his car seat while Rhett and Quincy seem to search for words. When I’m done, I straighten, stretching my back. The week has been rough. I can do with downtime and greasy comfort food. “Whereto, guys? It’s your call.”

“Spur,” they say in unison.

“The Spur?”

“Spu–Spur.” Charlie bounces up and down. He loves the Spur.

“You want to go to the Spur?” I repeat.

“There’s a baby playground,” Quincy says, “with face painting and everything.”

“Connor’s too young for face painting,” Rhett says, “and you don’t know what toxins are in that paint.”

“I bet he’ll love the slide.”

“He’s not going on that microbe infested super tube.”

I bundle them in the car while the arguing continues.

“Mil–milkshake.”

“Fine. Forget about the damn slide. There are games.”

“Dude, he’s not playing computer games until he turns eighteen. It’s bad for the brain.”

“He can’t be a social outcast. Guys play games. It’s what we do.”

Connor cooes as if he knows he’s the center of the heated discussion.

I text Kris and invite her to join us. Then I put the car into gear and lose myself in the safe bubble of squabbling voices. My body warms with a pleasant feeling of friendship and acceptance. If Gabriel weren’t gone, my happiness would’ve been complete.

* * *

The money from Gabriel’s estate eventually comes through when the unresolved police investigation is closed and his assets are no longer frozen. It’s barely enough to pay off the last of our debts, but it prevents me from having to declare the company bankrupt, which will leave me financially crippled for the next decade, as I wouldn’t be able to get a loan or buy anything on credit.

Michael questions the wisdom of my moves, but he does send more candidates for the CFO position my way. After the twentieth interview, I finally meet an MBA graduate who’s willing to take the plunge. Simon Villiers is clever, optimistic, and energetic––all the qualities I want in a man who is about to start his first job with barely enough money to make ends meet and twenty-five percent of––for the moment––worthless shares.

The spikes in the wheel are Rhett and Quincy, as usual. As shareholders, I need their agreement to employ Simon. I can almost see how Rhett’s head is working as he studies the attractive blond man sitting at the opposite side of my desk.

Rhett gives Quincy a small shake of his head. “Too attractive. Did he look at her in that way?”

“I think he did,” Quincy says.

Simon shoots them a puzzled look.

“You’re in?” I ask Simon, eager to draw his attention away from the sideline comments.

“I’m in.”

Rhett hooks his thumbs in his belt and takes a step forward. “Hold on a second. This interview isn’t over. My turn.”

I sigh inwardly.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Rhett asks.

“What?” Simon’s face scrunches up. “What does that have to do with my competency?”

“Just answer the question,” Quincy says.

“It’s discriminative,” Simon retorts. “You’re not allowed to ask me that.”

“Well, guess what, cupcake?” Rhett advances more. “Whoever is going to fill that chair,” he points at the desk next to mine, “is going to become part of the family, so excuse me for wanting to understand how your family is mapped out.”

“All right.” Simon gives Rhett a dashing smile. “Actually, I’m gay.”

The looks on Rhett and Quincy’s faces are priceless. All I can do is sit back and enjoy their reaction.

“Oh.” Rhett glances at Quincy. “In that case, he’ll do.”

Quincy, who sits on the sofa in what we call our relaxing corner, pushes the stroller over the carpet with a gentle kick and reels it back in with a rope he tied to the handlebar, his invention of putting Connor to sleep. “Yeah, definitely.”

“How about you, Rhett?” Simon asks in a seductive voice, getting his own back. “Are you single?”

“I’m … uh … yeah. I’m straight.”

“Okay.” Simon turns his attention back to me. “Where do I sign?”

I would’ve hired him from the way he handled Rhett alone. “Here.” I push the paper over the desk to him. “Welcome to the company.”

* * *

Slowly but surely, with Simon’s help and the Harris investments, the money starts coming in. We’re relying on legal loans with reasonable interest rates and make our profit through clever investments. It’s exactly like running a bank. The business is not my passion, but it pays for what becomes my passion––finding Gabriel.

I don’t tell my business partners or friends about my search. They don’t believe Gabriel is alive, and I’d risk getting locked up in an asylum for insisting he is, so I keep my mouth shut. When there’s enough money in the bank to pay for the roof over our heads and the food on our table without going into overdraft, I use what I can from my income to hire a private investigator. We start with checking passenger lists at the airports and finding a match for Gabriel’s description. With his physique, it would be hard to go unnoticed. For months, nothing turns up. I go as far as endorsing Captain Barnard’s efforts to clean up the areas of the city where we have branches so that he pulls all the street surveillance tapes of the day on which the explosion took place. I want to be sure I missed nothing. The tapes show Gabriel entering the building, the blast, and nothing else, but there’s a blind spot at the back of the building where the cameras don’t reach. With no exit at the back, he would have had to either go over the roof or underground. Barnard gets me the blueprints of the building from the municipality, but that only shows the structure. No secret passages. No sewerage or drain systems. No fire escapes from the roof.

I’m starting to lose the last thing I have left. My hope.