Chapter 8: A Name That Never Existed

The drive to Alison's law office felt longer than usual.

Patricia barely noticed the bustling streets of Nakuru.

Her mind remained trapped on one terrifying fact.

There was no Fiona Lawama.

The woman who had stolen her husband.

The woman whose name appeared on the mansion documents.

The woman listed as the sole beneficiary in Alex's will.

Didn't officially exist.

The revelation felt unreal.

Like stepping into a crime thriller rather than her own life.

By the time she arrived at Alison's office, her palms were damp with sweat.

Alison was already waiting.

Several files lay scattered across her desk.

The moment Patricia entered, her sister closed the office door.

"We have a problem."

Patricia sank into the chair opposite her.

"I figured that much."

"No."

Alison's expression darkened.

"You don't understand."

She slid a document across the desk.

Patricia picked it up.

It was an immigration report.

Names.

Entry records.

Passport numbers.

Dates.

Patricia scanned the pages.

Then frowned.

"There must be a mistake."

"I thought so too."

"But?"

Alison leaned back.

"I had three different contacts verify it."

Patricia looked at her sister.

"And?"

"There has never been a Fiona Lawama registered in Kenya."

The room fell silent.

Outside, traffic continued moving through Nakuru CBD.

Inside, Patricia felt her world tilt once more.

"Then who is she?"

Alison sighed.

"That's what worries me."

Elsewhere, several kilometers away, Alex Midila was having the best morning he'd experienced in months.

He sat inside a luxurious office overlooking Milimani Estate.

The office belonged to Fiona.

Or at least that's what he believed.

The room smelled of expensive perfume and polished wood.

Everything about it screamed wealth.

Success.

Power.

Exactly the life Alex wanted.

Fiona stood beside the window.

Elegant as always.

Her white dress reflected the morning sunlight.

Alex couldn't help admiring her.

Compared to Patricia's endless worries and financial lectures, Fiona felt refreshing.

Ambitious.

Confident.

Exciting.

"You're staring."

Alex smiled.

"You look beautiful."

Fiona laughed softly.

The sound always made him feel important.

Special.

Chosen.

"You'll get everything soon."

Alex's eyes brightened.

"The house?"

"The house."

"The business?"

"The business."

"What about the partnership?"

Fiona turned toward him.

A mysterious smile played on her lips.

"One step at a time."

Alex nodded eagerly.

He trusted her completely.

A mistake that would soon cost him dearly.

Meanwhile, Patricia and Alison continued digging.

The deeper they searched, the stranger things became.

By noon, Alison's office resembled an investigation center.

Documents covered every available surface.

Property records.

Bank statements.

Corporate registrations.

Phone records.

Nothing connected.

Yet somehow everything connected.

Patricia rubbed her temples.

"There has to be a reason."

"For what?"

"For using a fake identity."

Alison nodded.

"There always is."

Her phone suddenly rang.

A private number.

She answered.

"Hello?"

Patricia watched her sister's expression change.

First confusion.

Then surprise.

Then concern.

When Alison ended the call, she looked unsettled.

"Who was that?"

Alison hesitated.

"One of my former clients."

"What did he want?"

Her sister took a deep breath.

"He works in corporate investigations."

Patricia felt her heartbeat quicken.

"And?"

"He recognized Fiona's photograph."

The air seemed to leave the room.

"What?"

Alison nodded slowly.

"He says she's been seen before."

"Where?"

The answer came quietly.

"Nairobi."

Patricia leaned forward.

"Doing what?"

Alison swallowed.

"Destroying wealthy men."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Patricia stared at her sister.

Certain she had heard wrong.

"What do you mean, destroy?"

Alison opened another file.

"He investigated a similar case three years ago."

Patricia's pulse accelerated.

The lawyer slid several photographs across the desk.

Patricia picked up the first one.

An older businessman.

Expensively dressed.

Standing beside Fiona.

Or the woman using Fiona's face.

The second photograph showed another man.

Different city.

Different year.

Same woman.

The third.

The fourth.

The fifth.

Always the same pattern.

Successful men.

Money.

Then disaster.

Patricia felt cold.

Very cold.

"What happened to them?"

Alison's answer barely rose above a whisper.

"One committed suicide."

Patricia froze.

"Another disappeared."

Her grip tightened.

"The third lost everything."

The room suddenly felt smaller.

Hotter.

Dangerous.

"This can't be real."

"I wish it wasn't."

Patricia looked at the photographs again.

For the first time, she felt something unexpected.

Fear.

Not for herself.

For Alex.

Because despite everything he had done...

Despite the lies.

Despite the betrayal.

He was walking straight into a trap.

And he didn't even know it.

That evening, Patricia returned home exhausted.

The children were watching television.

Alex hadn't arrived yet.

She welcomed the silence.

For now.

As she prepared supper, her thoughts kept returning to the investigation.

To Fiona.

To the fake identity.

To the wealthy men whose lives had been destroyed.

One question haunted her.

Why Alex?

Of all people.

Why target a struggling accountant from Nakuru?

The answer came unexpectedly.

The doorbell rang.

Patricia frowned.

Visitors were rare.

Especially unannounced visitors.

She opened the gate.

And immediately froze.

A black luxury sedan sat outside.

Its tinted windows concealed the occupants.

A uniformed driver stood beside it.

Professional.

Disciplined.

Intimidating.

"Mrs. Patricia Sewe?"

Her heartbeat quickened.

"Yes."

The driver nodded respectfully.

"My employer would like to speak with you."

Patricia's stomach tightened.

"Who is your employer?"

The rear passenger door opened.

A tall elderly man stepped out.

His tailored suit probably cost more than Patricia's annual rent.

Silver hair.

Sharp eyes.

Commanding presence.

Patricia recognized him instantly.

From newspapers.

Television interviews.

Business magazines.

The same man from the photograph.

The billionaire.

Obadiah Waore.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then the billionaire smiled.

A strangely emotional smile.

As though he were seeing a ghost.

"Patricia."

The way he said her name unsettled her.

Like he had known it for years.

"Sir?"

His eyes softened.

Then he uttered words that sent a chill through her entire body.

"I've been searching for you for twenty-six years."

Patricia's world stopped.

"What?"

The billionaire glanced toward the children visible through the living room window.

Then back at her.

"We need to talk."

A long pause followed.

Then he added something even more shocking.

"Because your life is built on a lie."