Three months later

The will had been a bombshell.

Her father, predictable in life, unpredictable in death, had left his title to his oldest living child. His position as Chief Executive Officer belonged to Kaweme now.

It was supposed to be Musonda.

It was always supposed to be Musonda.

Everyone knew that.

Even she knew that.

But Musonda was gone.

And now the title, the legacy, the enormous burden, had fallen on her.

Along with everything else.

The companies, the investments, the sprawling estates…

No one even knew the full extent of it yet.

The lawyers were still digging, still calculating, still updating spreadsheets that seemed to grow longer by the day.

Every week, another letter arrived: a beachfront property in Mauritius, a majority stake in a fintech company in South Africa, a villa tucked away in Morocco.

None of it made her feel rich.

None of it made her feel powerful. Rather, it made her feel scared about life, and the vanity of it all. How can a man who gained the whole world, have no leverage to negotiate for a longer life for himself and his family?

All of the Muntanga wealth was all hers now, or at least, hers to hold until Kalo came of age.

The weight of it was crushing. She hadn’t even begun to process it properly.

All she could think about, all she could see whenever she closed her eyes, was her father’s chair… and her sitting in it.

It didn’t feel right.

It felt like betrayal.

Like stealing something she wasn’t worthy to touch.

Because between the two of them, between her and her father, they had always known.

Business wasn’t her passion.

He loved her, yes. With a deep, overwhelming love, but he had known she was different.

The daughter who dreamed in colours, not spreadsheets and stock prices, yet, here she was wearing a navy blue suit, pulling her shoulders back, forcing herself into a shape she didn’t recognize, because life didn’t care about what you loved. It cared about what was needed.

And right now, what was needed… was her, here to carry on her father’s legacy, as though vision was inherited by D.N.A.

After the will was read, the board had quickly installed her as Acting CEO of Nezelcom Zambia, a name she was now hearing murmurs about changing, in hushed meetings that she wasn’t always invited to. They were kind, but it didn’t stop them from treating her like a figurehead C.E.O that was just there to tick the box till they knew what to do with her.

Yet, the company her father had built from scratch. The company that pulsed with his vision and his blood must be protected. She had to figure out how to lead it.

She didn’t know where to start. If not for Japheth, she would have crumbled already.

Japheth… and ChatGPT. Thank God for A.I.

Between frantic Google searches and whispered texts to Japheth under boardroom tables, she was surviving.

She always had questions.

What’s an EBITDA margin?

What does it mean if they say ‘vote of no confidence’ during a board meeting?

And always, Japheth would reply. Patient. Steady. Explaining things. Calming her fears. Making her look ten times smarter than she felt.

Even though he was nowhere to be seen. Technically, he was still on study and annual leave. When she had asked how come he was gone for so long, he said his body and mind needed it, like he was trying to recover from something.

That was the official line: But she knew better.

She had seen him.

Twice at church. Twice at lunch.

Healthy. Smiling. Laughing.

Definitely not “sick.”

When she finally cornered him about it, he had shrugged and said,

“I’m not physically sick. Just tired. And maybe… running.”

Running from what, he didn’t say.

But the worry in his eyes said enough. She hadn’t told him yet about the promotion.

The letter she found among her father’s drafts.

The letter named Japheth, specifically Japheth, as a key player in the future of Nezelcom.

She wanted to wait till he resumed officially, before telling him.

To give him time to relish his time away without pressure. But everyday, he seemed to slip a little further away. And everyday, her heart ached more than she thought possible.

Without Japheth, these days were endless shadows.

Heavy and gray. She wanted him to become more than just a friend, but he didn’t seem to see her that way.

Not really.

He treated her like a younger sister.

A fragile, broken thing that needed protecting, not loving.

It hurt more than she could admit.

But at least today… today, she would see him.

Today was a scheduled casual meeting.

He was supposed to come by, just to “check in” on work matters, unofficially, because finally he was resuming back to work.

Today, she would see his face.

Today, maybe, she could find her courage to hint at liking him, and wanting him to be more than just a friend.

She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of her jacket, a sharp, tailored navy suit.

It wasn’t her style.

It wasn’t soft or colorful.

It was Japheth’s style, or so she assumed. He seemed like the type to be drawn to a powerful boss lady.

And today…

Today she dressed, not for the role she embodied. Today, she was dressing for hope.

A knock came on the door.

She turned. Her secretary stepped in with a file and a cautious smile.

“Ma’am. Legal just sent this. It’s a Spectrum Compliance Memo. They’re requesting your signature before EOD.”

“Thank you.” Kaweme took the file and flipped through the pages. She frowned at the final clause, too vague, too risky.

She grabbed a sticky note and scribbled quickly:

“Hold. Legal review requested.”

The secretary nodded, and left. As the door shut behind her, Kaweme returned to the mirror behind the door.

She smoothed her sleeves again. Checked her hair. Adjusted her neckline.

Then sat.

Steady now.

She had survived worse.

But today… today she just wanted to look into Japheth’s eyes, and not be seen as broken. Not as fragile. Not as a charity case.

Today, she wanted to be the woman her father believed she could be.

And the one Japheth might begin to see differently.

—————————————————————————————————————————-

Japheth strolled into the building, cloaked in the same understated confidence that came from surviving storms no one saw coming. Luyando was a step behind him, glad to have his friend back after three months. Japheth had been due for a training, which H.R had been trying to ensure he did for almost one year now, but he always postponed it. The timing was just never right to leave work, but with a target on his back, he knew he needed to escape, so he requested to do the training and take his annual leave right after.

The buzz in the office shifted as they entered, different people pausing their work to greet Japheth and welcome him back to work.

“This place has been a ghost without you,” Luyando muttered, adjusting his ID badge. “And if they were planning to sack you before, it would be insane to do so now because sacking the genius of the department will certainly hand them a full-blown PR crisis. We missed you so much.”

Japheth gave a small smile, happy to back but scared of what awaits. “You were holding it down.”

“Me?” Luyando scoffed. “You know the truth. You were the one fixing things. Half the things I implemented were things we talked about on your couch while eating burnt rice and stew.”

“You give me too much credit,” Japheth said.

“No,” Luyando replied, with the same quiet intensity he always used when he was serious. “You’re brilliant, and if they make the mistake of letting you go, they’ll regret it, because the competition will pick you up before your resignation ink dries, and I won’t let that happen. I’ll walk straight into Kaweme’s office and tell her to do the right thing.”

“No,” Japheth cut in quickly. “Please don’t stress Kaweme. She has enough on her shoulders.”

Luyando slowed his steps, eyeing him with new interest. “You think I don’t know you’re the one helping her?”

Japheth froze for half a second. “She told you?”

“Nope.” Luyando smirked. “But you just did. I guessed. The way she’s handling the board, the confidence… I knew someone was in her corner. I just didn’t know who. Now I do.”

“She’s smarter than people give her credit for,” Japheth said carefully. “She’s rising to it.”

“Stop sounding territorial,” Luyando said, amused. “Is there something I need to know?”

Japheth sighed. “Please don’t start with this protective cousin thing. It’s getting old.”

At that moment, Mwila burst into the hallway with his usual theatrics. “My favorite team member is finally back in the building!”

Luyando placed a hand on his chest, mock-wounded. “Wow. Just like that, he hurt my feelings.”

“You can’t have it all,” Mwila grinned. “Your cousin is the new CEO. Let someone else shine.”

“And clearly, Japheth is closer to her than I am these days,” Luyando added, half-joking, half-not.

“I’m not anything,” Japheth said, his voice dry. “I’ve got enough issues. I’m not in the mood for your jokes today.”

Mwila gave a short laugh. “This is why I missed you, always serious, easy to rile up.”

By the time Japheth got to his desk, a small crowd had formed, people stopping by to say hello, welcome back, shake hands, slap backs. He smiled, nodded, shook the right hands, but in his gut, he knew.

The moment was coming.

He didn’t have to wait long. An intern came to summon him with a tight smile. “Mr. Japheth, Mr. Nkandu would like to see you.”

Japheth stood. “And so it begins,” he muttered under his breath.

Luyando gave him a two-fingered salute. “Good luck. But if he tries anything, just yell my name dramatically as you exit. Let’s go out in flames.”Japheth chuckled, at Luyando’s seriousness.

Inside the office, Japheth could already feel the chill.

His line manager, Mr. Nkandu, didn’t waste time. “It’s a good thing you ran away and went on leave right after. I only approved it because I needed to figure out what to do with you.”

“Good Morning Sir. I am happy to be back,” Japheth said.

“I am not happy to have you back”, Nkandu said, leaning back. “If I sack you now, people will talk. You’re popular. That’s a problem. But you and I both know we don’t align in principles or plans. So, I’m giving you a way out. Resign. Quietly.”

He pulled out a business card and slid it across the table.

“My friend at DataForge Telecoms is looking for someone to head up strategy. I think it’s a better fit. You should call him.”

Japheth didn’t touch the card. He met the man’s eyes and said, “If you want me out, you’ll have to sack me.”

Nkandu’s smile died.

“I love it here,” Japheth continued. “And I’m not leaving. At least… not yet.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Nkandu snapped. “Your days here are numbered.”

There was a knock at the door.

Before either man could respond, it opened and in stepped a sharp-suited figure from the executive wing. Mr. Tembo, Chief of Staff to the CEO.

Nkandu stood immediately, a smile pasted on. “Ah! Mr. Tembo. You didn’t need to come up. I would have come to your office.”

Tembo didn’t smile back. “This couldn’t wait.”

He turned to Japheth. “Japheth, I’m here to deliver a message in person.”

He pulled out a letter. “Before the late CEO passed, he wrote a formal directive recommending your redeployment to the CEO’s Office for special duties. It was left unsigned but entered into our system as intent. His daughter, our new CEO, has chosen to honour it.”

Japheth blinked.

Nkandu stammered, “I, I wasn’t aware of this.”

Tembo handed the letter to Japheth. “Effective immediately, you report to the Office of the CEO.”

Nkandu’s face was drained of all color.

“Congratulations,” Tembo added. “I believe your key card access will be updated before close of business.”

Japheth stood slowly. “Thank you, sir.”

He turned to his now-speechless boss, offered a polite nod, and walked out.

His expression was unreadable, but inside, everything was changing.

Everything.