Zondi — Eddie

At a red light, a white Toyota Hilux pulled up beside him. Two men inside. Sunglasses at 4 a.m. Eddie’s hand moved to his hip. The light turned green. The Hilux didn’t move. Neither did Eddie.

Eddie touched the butt of his service weapon. “I’m going to go have a word with the man who bought my captain a new pool last Christmas.” eddie zondi

The Hilux sped off. Eddie sat for a full minute, heart jackhammering. They knew his car. They knew his route. Which meant they knew about the ledger. At a red light, a white Toyota Hilux pulled up beside him

Eddie Zondi smiled. It had been a long time since he’d felt this awake. Eddie’s hand moved to his hip

He turned left instead of right, doubled back through a taxi rank, abandoned the Golf behind a bottle store, and walked three kilometers in the dark. By the time he reached Khanyi’s flat in Yeoville, his shoes were soaked and his hand shook when he knocked.

He didn’t call it in. Not yet. The station was no longer neutral ground. He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a thumb drive—the ledger’s only digital copy. His daughter, Thandi, had scanned it at a cybercafé in Braamfontein. She didn’t know what it was. Eddie intended to keep it that way.

She didn’t ask questions. That’s why he came. “And you?”