Chapter 6 - Whispers in the Boardroom
Edward Mansa was executing a scorched-earth campaign. By attacking Zola’s estranged family, he was testing her morality—forcing her to choose between watching the parents who abandoned her face utter ruin or capitulating to his demands.
Within thirty minutes, Cairo and Zola arrived at her parents' suburban home.
Moving trucks were parked on the lawn. Uniformed bailiffs were carrying out furniture, televisions, and family heirlooms under the supervision of Edward Mansa’s private legal enforcer, a ruthless attorney named Gilbert Sterling.
Zola’s father, a man whose pride had once seemed unshakeable, sat on the front porch steps with his head buried in his trembling hands. Her mother was weeping hysterically by the gate, clutching Reena, who looked pale and terrified.
When the neighbors saw Cairo’s convoy arrive, they gathered in hushed whispers.
"Mr. Sterling, halt the repossession immediately," Cairo commanded, stepping out of the vehicle with Beatrice Mwape.
Sterling adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, offering a cold smirk. "Mr. Cairo. Your father holds the defaulted promissory note signed by Mr. Banda. Unless thirty million kwacha is paid in full within the hour, this property and all attached commercial assets belong to Mansa Credit."
Zola walked up to the porch. Her father slowly raised his bloodshot eyes. The arrogance that had defined him on the morning of her twentieth birthday was completely gone, replaced by the hollow gaze of a broken man.
"Zola..." her father croaked, his voice cracking. "I... I made a deal with him. He promised government contracts for my textile plant if I persuaded you to sign the custody agreement. When I refused to trick you... he pulled the debt."
Zola froze. She looked at the man who had cast her out into the rain. Even in his desperation, he had finally drawn a line—refusing to sell his grandson.
Her mother crawled toward Zola on her knees, grasping at the hem of Zola’s dress. "Zola, my child... forgive me! I was wicked, I was proud, I was blind! Please don't let them throw us onto the streets like dogs!"
Zola looked down at her weeping mother. A dark memory flashed in her mind: standing in that exact living room with a hand on her pregnant belly, being told she was a shame and a waste.
If you can make adult choices, you can live with them.
Those words echoed in Zola’s mind. She could easily walk away. She could let them experience the biting cold of having nowhere to sleep.
Instead, Zola took a deep, steadying breath. She gently pulled her dress from her mother’s grip and stood tall.
"I won't let them take your home," Zola said, her voice resonant and clear. "Not because you deserve mercy, but because I refuse to become as heartless as you were to me."
Zola turned to Cairo. "Call the emergency press conference at the National Press Club. Now."
"Zola, what are you planning?" Cairo asked.
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"Edward thinks we’re playing defense," Zola said, her eyes flashing with a tactical brilliance forged in the cutthroat survival of the markets. "We’re going to blow his empire wide open on live television."
***
