WEB OF LIES Novel Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

GATSHA

“What do you mean ‘over your dead body’?” Simphiwe asks, her voice rising in confusion. She shifts in the passenger seat, looking at him closely. “Gatsha, you’re acting strange. It’s a family tradition. It’s how things have always been done to keep the home together.”

He realizes he let the mask slip too far. He forces a deep, shaky breath into his lungs and turns to her, his expression softening into one of brotherly concern.

“I just mean that I won’t let them force her into anything she doesn’t want to do,” he says quickly, his voice smooth again. “Hlengiwe is grieving and carrying a life. To even think about marriage right now is an insult to Funani’s memory. I won’t stand by and watch them bully her into a life she doesn’t want just to get their hands on the estate. That’s all.”

Simphiwe looks at him for a long moment, searching his eyes, before she finally nods. “You’re right, it is too soon. My mother just thinks she’s protecting the lineage.”

“She’s protecting the bank account,” he mutters, though he makes sure it’s too low for her to hear. He wipes the last of the moisture from his eyes and opens the driver-side door. “Let’s go inside. I’ve hidden out here long enough.”

As he walks through the hallway, trying to find a quiet corner, Nhlapho Senior spots him. The old man is sitting in Funani’s favorite armchair, his cane propped up against his knee. He gestures with a finger for Gatsha to come closer.

“Gatsha. Sit,” the old man commands.

He remains standing, his hands tucked into his pockets. “I can’t stay long, Baba. I need to check on the security at the gate.”

“The gate is fine, this is more important,” Nhlapho Senior says, “We need to talk about the trucks. My son is gone, but the work must continue. I want you to start bringing Lungisani to the office on Monday. He needs to learn the routes, the clients, and the books. It is time he prepares to take his brother’s place at the head of the table.”

He feels a bitter, dry chuckle escape his throat before he can stop it. He shakes his head, “Take his place? Which business are we talking about exactly, Baba?”

Nhlapho Senior frowns, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. “My son’s business, of course. The Nhlapho empire. Lungisani is the next man in line. He needs to fill those shoes.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping into an icy tone. “With all due respect, Baba, you are mistaken. This isn’t a family spaza shop in Mayflower where the keys just get passed to the next brother. I wasn’t just Funani’s ‘help.’ I am a legal partner. I own thirty-five percent of that company. Hlengiwe herself owns twenty percent in her own name. Funani’s share is a separate matter that will go into his estate.”

The old man’s face reddens, his grip tightening on his cane. “What are you saying? Are you saying my son didn’t own his own life’s work?”

“I’m saying there is a procedure,” he continues, his voice calm but firm. “With Funani gone, the bylaws of the company state that the remaining partner takes over operations. Until Hlengiwe decides what she wants to do with her husband’s shares, whether she wants to sit on the board or sell, I am the one running things. Lungisani wouldn’t know the difference between a manifest and a grocery list. He should stay away from the depot.”

Nhlapho Senior leans forward, a smug look crossing his face. “About that, we have already decided that Lungisani will be marrying Hlengiwe. It is our way. Once they are wed, the business will be back home where it belongs. The family will have the majority, and then we can simply buy you out. You can take your thirty-five percent and find another shadow to live in.”

He chuckles again, but there is no warmth in it. It’s a sound of anger being held back by a very thin thread. He looks at the old man, the man who didn’t contribute a cent to the millions they made and feels extremely annoyed.

“You have it all figured out, don’t you?” He says, his eyes flashing. “Marry her off like a piece of livestock to a boy who can’t even wake up before noon. You really think it’s that simple.”

“It is our tradition,” Nhlapho says stubbornly.

“I think I’ve heard enough for one day,” he says, turning on his heel. “Excuse me, Baba. I have a business to run. A real one, not the one in your head.”

He walks away before the old man can respond, his heart beating so fast against his ribs. He needs to get to Hlengiwe and make sure they haven’t started whispering this poison into her ear yet.

As he scans the yard, he spots Zenzele standing near the cars deep in conversation with two other men in suits, probably some of the business associates who came to pay their respects. He marches straight up to them, his eyes fixed on Zenzele.

“Zenzele, a word. Now.” he says, his voice cutting through their conversation.

The other men look startled, but Zenzele simply offers them a smooth nod. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Duty calls.” He pushes himself off the car and follows him to a secluded spot near the high wall, where the noise of the mourners is muffled by the distance.

“You look like you’re about to explode,” Zenzele says, adjusting his glasses. “What did the old man say? Did he ask for a ride home?”

“They’re moving too fast, Zenzele,” he says, his voice a harsh whisper. “The old man just told me they plan to have Lungisani marry Hlengiwe. They want to keep the lineage together, which is just a fancy way of saying they want to get their hands on Funani’s forty-five percent and kick me out.”

Zenzele raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t look panicked. He actually looks amused. “Lungisani? The one who spent his first allowance on a bottle of champagne in Sandton? That Lungisani?”

“It’s not a joke,” he snaps. “If they push her into this, and she agrees out of grief or some misplaced sense of duty to the Nhlapho name, we’re in trouble. The board won’t listen to me if the family controls the majority.”

“Relax, Gatsha. You’re thinking emotionally because you’re tired. I’ve dealt with families like this a hundred times. They think they’re playing chess, but they’re playing checkers.”

“And your point is?”

“My point is that the boy is a hollow shell,” Zenzele says, his voice becoming cold. “We have the reading of the will coming up soon. I know exactly what’s in those documents. As soon as the reading commences and that boy realizes he’s getting a cash inheritance and a monthly stipend rather than the keys to the kingdom, his interest in being a husband will vanish.

Once he gets a taste of that money, he’ll be back in the clubs and at his parties before the month is out. He doesn’t want Hlengiwe’s responsibilities; he wants Funani’s lifestyle.”

He looks at Zenzele, his breathing finally slowing down. “You’re sure about that?”

“I’m sure about human greed,” Zenzele smirks. “Lungisani is predictable. He’s a small man dreaming big. Let them have their little meetings. As long as I’m the one holding the papers, the power stays exactly where we want it. Don’t worry about the boy, Gatsha. Focus on keeping the widow’s trust. I’ll handle the legal circus.”

Zenzele pats his shoulder and starts walking back toward the other guests, leaving him alone in the shade of the wall.

He watches him go, the anger in his chest replaced by a cold, calculating stillness. He looks up at the balcony of Hlengiwe’s room. He has a lot of work to do.

HLENGIWE

It is Tuesday morning, and the heavy, black silence that followed the funeral is finally starting to lift. Most of the family has left. The big marquee has been taken down, and the house finally smells fresh. She stands at the top of the stairs, for the first time in a week, she feels like she can actually breathe without someone watching her cry.

She heads down to the kitchen, craving a simple glass of cold water. She expects to find MaMhlongo cleaning up, but instead, the sound of a metal spoon clattering against a bowl echoes through the hallway.

She walks in and stops dead, seeing Lungisani is leaning against the kitchen table, a massive bowl of cereal in his hands, stuffing his face while scrolling on his phone. He is wearing one of Funani’s expensive silk robes, the one she bought him for his birthday.

“Lungisani?” she asks, “What are you still doing here? I thought everyone from Mayflower left yesterday morning.”

Lungisani looks up, milk dripping from his lip. He doesn’t look sad or respectful; he looks like he’s on vacation.

“Oh, hey, Hlengi,” he says, his voice muffled by a mouthful of flakes. “I decided to stay behind. I told Baba I can’t leave you here all alone during this time. A woman in your state needs a man in the house to look after her.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing. “I have MaMhlongo, and Balungile is moving in this afternoon to help me with the baby things until I give birth. I’m well looked after, Lungisani. You should go home, your mother probably needs you.”

Lungisani puts the bowl down on the counter slowly, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and starts walking toward her. She stands her ground, but her heart starts to beat in a way she doesn’t like. He stops just a few inches away, close enough for her to smell his stale morning breath and the expensive cologne he clearly stole from Funani’s dresser.

A smirk spreads across his face. “You should get used to having me around, Hlengi. We need to start forming a bond, don’t you think?”

“A bond? For what, Lungisani? We are in-laws. That’s the only bond we have.”

He lets out a mocking chuckle that sends a shiver of disgust down her spine. “Oh… they didn’t tell you yet? Typical elders, always keeping the best secrets.” He leans in closer, his eyes traveling shamelessly down her body, lingering on the curve of her hips and her stomach. “I’ve been tasked to look after my brother’s assets. All of them. And that includes you. We’re getting married, Hlengi. It’s the family’s wish.”

She blinks, certain she has misheard him. “Getting married to you? You’ve lost your mind. Funani hasn’t even been on the ground for seventy-two hours!”

“Think about it,” he says, ignoring her shock and reaching out as if to touch her arm. She flinches away, her skin crawling. He just grins wider. “I can tell I’m going to enjoy this ‘duty.’ You’ve always been a beautiful woman, but this pregnancy? It’s made you voluptuous. You’ve gained weight in all the right places, Hlengi. My brother had good taste.”

A wave of nausea hits her so hard she has to grip the edge of the kitchen table. The disrespect, the filth in his voice and the way he is looking at her like she’s a piece of furniture he just inherited makes her want to scream and vomit at the same time. She is stunned, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to find the words to crush him.

He turns away, grabbing a set of keys from the marble bowl by the door. He jingles them in the air, a glint of greed in his eyes.

“Anyway, I’m heading out to see some friends in Rosebank,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t just insulted her soul. “Which car should I take? The SUV is a bit too family man for me. I think I’ll take the AMG, it suits my vibe, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t wait for her answer. He whistles a tune, walking out toward the garage in his dead brother’s robe, the keys to Funani’s car clinking in his hand.

To be continued

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