Chapter 15: The Flash Drive Awakens

Fiona Lawama stared at the phone.

For the first time in years, genuine panic gripped her.

The voice on the other end repeated itself.

"The flash drive has been activated."

Her fingers tightened around the device.

"That's impossible."

"It isn't."

The line crackled briefly.

Then the caller added the detail that made Fiona's blood run cold.

"It was accessed less than three minutes ago."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

The luxurious penthouse suddenly felt smaller.

Hotter.

Dangerous.

Because only three people knew the truth about the flash drive.

One was dead.

One was missing.

And the third...

Fiona slowly turned toward the city lights of Nakuru.

Patricia.

At Nakuru Central Hospital, Patricia was still trying to process the memory.

Rose Waore.

The name felt familiar.

Too familiar.

As though it belonged to a forgotten part of her life.

Alex sat upright despite the pain.

"Are you sure?"

Patricia nodded slowly.

"I heard it."

The fear on Alex's face deepened.

Alison immediately noticed.

"Who is Rose Waore?"

Alex rubbed his face.

For several moments, he remained silent.

Then he answered.

"Obadiah's daughter."

The room froze.

Patricia's heart skipped a beat.

"The woman in the photograph."

Alex nodded.

"The woman who died twenty-six years ago."

A chill spread through Patricia's body.

Suddenly, the memories made even less sense.

Why would Rose Waore appear in her missing memories?

Why would someone mention her before giving Patricia a flash drive?

Nothing added up.

Nothing.

Yet.

A knock interrupted the conversation.

Everyone tensed immediately.

Patricia's pulse accelerated.

The attempted assassination was still fresh in their minds.

The door slowly opened.

A nurse stepped inside.

This time it really was a nurse.

"Mrs. Midila?"

Patricia nodded.

"There's someone asking for you downstairs."

Her stomach tightened.

"Who?"

The nurse hesitated.

Then replied.

"He refused to give his name."

Alison immediately stood.

"No."

The nurse blinked.

"What?"

"She's not going anywhere alone."

Patricia almost smiled.

Trust Alison to become a bodyguard overnight.

The nurse shrugged.

"He said he expected that."

A new chill entered the room.

Expected that?

Whoever was downstairs knew them.

Or at least knew how they would react.

Ten minutes later, Patricia and Alison entered the hospital reception area.

Security personnel remained everywhere after the shooting incident.

The atmosphere was tense.

Watchful.

Uneasy.

Then Patricia saw him.

An elderly man seated quietly near a window.

Simple clothes.

Walking stick.

Grey beard.

Nothing remarkable about him.

Except his eyes.

The moment they met hers, she felt something strange.

Recognition.

The man slowly stood.

"Patricia Sewe."

It wasn't a question.

It was a statement.

"You know me?"

The old man smiled sadly.

"I knew your mother."

Patricia froze.

"What?"

Alison stepped closer.

Protective.

Suspicious.

The old man reached into his coat.

Alison immediately tensed.

Instead of a weapon, he produced a worn photograph.

One Patricia had never seen before.

A young woman stood beside Obadiah Waore.

Both smiling.

Both happy.

The woman looked familiar.

Very familiar.

Patricia's pulse quickened.

Then realization struck.

The woman resembled her.

Not slightly.

Not vaguely.

Remarkably.

The old man noticed her reaction.

"That's Rose Waore."

Patricia's knees nearly buckled.

Back upstairs, Alex stared through the hospital window.

Fear continued eating away at him.

Every passing minute increased the danger.

Because if the flash drive had truly been activated, then everything was about to change.

A soft vibration interrupted his thoughts.

His phone.

The hospital had returned it after the accident.

Alex frowned.

Nobody should have this number.

Yet a message had arrived.

Unknown sender.

Only six words.

You should have died yesterday.

The color drained from his face.

A second message appeared immediately.

We're coming back for you.

Alex's hand began trembling uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, Patricia sat opposite the old man in the hospital cafeteria.

Alison never left her side.

The old man introduced himself as Joel Aliet.

A retired investigative journalist.

"I spent fifteen years investigating the Waore family."

Patricia frowned.

"Why?"

His expression darkened.

"Because somebody wanted them destroyed."

The answer landed heavily.

Patricia immediately thought of Fiona.

Of the fake identity.

Of the conspiracy.

Joel leaned forward.

"Rose Waore never died in childbirth."

The world stopped.

"What?"

Alison blinked.

"What are you saying?"

Joel sighed.

"I'm saying the official story was a lie."

Patricia's pulse exploded.

"But Obadiah—"

"Believes it."

The old man nodded sadly.

"Because that's what they wanted him to believe."

The cafeteria suddenly felt too small.

Too crowded.

Too hot.

"If she didn't die..."

Joel looked directly at Patricia.

Then delivered another bombshell.

"Someone murdered her."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Because murder changed everything.

Murder meant motive.

Murder meant conspiracy.

Murder meant someone had spent twenty-six years hiding the truth.

Joel reached into his coat again.

This time producing a sealed envelope.

"I've been waiting a long time to give you this."

Patricia hesitated.

"What is it?"

His eyes softened.

"The last thing Rose Waore ever wrote."

Patricia's hands trembled as she accepted it.

A letter.

Yellowed with age.

Addressed to someone.

The handwriting elegant.

Careful.

Beautiful.

Then Patricia saw the name written across the front.

And stopped breathing.

The letter wasn't addressed to Obadiah.

Or a husband.

Or a friend.

It was addressed to:

My Daughter.

Patricia's vision blurred.

Because if the letter was genuine...

Then Rose Waore had known she was going to die.

And she had left a message behind.

A message intended for Patricia.