The photo haunted Maya.
Who was the man standing beside her father?
Why was Witness34 sending cryptic notes instead of just meeting in person?
Jordan had tried every reverse image search trick he knew. Nothing came up. It was like the man didn't exist—or had been erased, like everything else Maya had once loved.
But something told her this wasn't just a photo.
It was a key.
---
They met with Zara again the next morning at a secluded café. She brought news.
"There's a sealed case file under the Adedeji Foundation. It's connected to a string of 'youth development homes' that were shut down a few years ago under quiet government orders. Some kids went missing. Some came back broken."
Maya's stomach turned. "And no one said anything?"
Zara's jaw tightened. "They paid everyone off. Or scared them into silence. But now… some of the parents are talking again. Your story cracked something open."
Jordan leaned forward. "That man in the photo—he might be connected."
Zara nodded. "That's what I'm digging into now. If he was a whistleblower, or worse—an accomplice turned ghost."
Maya's voice was barely a whisper. "I need to know who he is. I need to know what they did to Femi."
---
The answer came that night.
Another message from Witness34.
> "His name was Mr. Ajala. He used to run the first home. He kept records.
Look under the stone at the back of the school where it began.
Be careful. They're watching."
Jordan narrowed his eyes. "The school? The one your father funded?"
Maya's voice was hoarse. "That's where Femi used to go before the fire."
---
The next morning, they arrived early—just before dawn.
The compound was mostly abandoned now. Overgrown, paint peeling, the silence thick.
Maya walked to the garden behind the old classroom buildings. She recognized the spot immediately—Femi had once drawn it in one of his letters.
A single flat stone near the wall.
She bent down.
Lifted it.
Beneath it was a small, rusted tin.
Inside: an old, leather-bound notebook and a flash drive.
---
They drove back to the shelter in silence.
When Jordan finally loaded the drive, it contained hours of video footage, scanned documents, and logs.
What they found made Maya sick to her stomach.
Videos of young boys being "disciplined" for speaking out
A ledger showing payouts to police officials and social workers
A signed directive from Maya's father approving the closure of two homes "to avoid scandal"
A page torn from a letter Femi had once written—with the words:
> "I heard him say: 'Make it look like an accident.'"
Jordan backed away from the screen. "This is enough. To blow up his image, his legacy—everything."
But Maya wasn't listening.
She was staring at the page, at the corner where her brother's handwriting still curled in careful loops.
> He tried to warn me, she thought. Even in the end.
---
Zara published the second exposé two days later.
Headline: "The Empire Built on Silence: Maya Adedeji and the Scars of Power"
This time, international outlets picked it up.
The Adedeji Foundation's website crashed. Donors pulled out. The Ministry of Youth released a statement claiming "full investigation" was underway.
But Maya knew better.
This wasn't over.
---
Two nights later, Jordan shook her awake.
"There's someone outside."
They peeked through the curtain.
A black SUV.
Windows tinted.
No one stepped out.
It just sat there.
Watching.
Waiting.
---
The next morning, Maya posted again.
> "I'm not afraid of your silence.
I'm not afraid of your power.
The truth is mine now.
And I'll carry it, no matter the weight."
---
Then another surprise.
An email from Witness34:
> "One more thing.
You're not the only one left.
Others are ready to speak—because you did first.
Get ready. The storm is coming."