Chapter 19: Ghost Don't Lie

The sun rose over Nairobi like it had something to prove—harsh, golden, and hot with the weight of unanswered questions.

Amara sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor of the safehouse living room, surrounded by files and papers. A photo of Jana Kalinová lay in her lap, slightly crumpled from being handled too many times. There was something in the girl's smile that haunted her. Something innocent. Something that didn't belong in Markus's world.

"She looks like you," Natalie said softly, entering with two steaming mugs of tea.

"That's the problem," Amara replied, not turning to face her. "How many more were there before me?"

Natalie handed her the tea. "We'll find out. One by one."

Amara took a deep breath, closing her eyes. The faces on the wall of the investigation board blurred together—Vanessa, Faith, Markus's men, even Lucas. But now Jana was at the center of it all, a ghost whose silence screamed for justice.

---

10:42 AM — Downtown Nairobi

The Czech consulate was tucked between two towering corporate buildings, almost invisible to the casual passerby. Natalie had called in favors, reached out to old contacts, and even flirted with a cultural attaché to secure a brief, unofficial meeting with a junior officer named Petr Novak.

He was young. Nervous. Clearly didn't want to be involved.

"This meeting doesn't exist," he said quickly as they stepped into a small break room. "If my boss finds out…"

"Then make it worth it," Natalie cut in, arms folded.

Amara placed the photo of Jana on the table. "Do you remember her?"

He stared at it longer than necessary. Then nodded. "She came here a few times. Always polite. Always alone."

"What happened to her?" Amara asked.

Petr hesitated. "She was listed under 'private investment care,' which meant her records were sealed. Then, around mid-2018, she stopped coming in. No messages. No exit visa filed."

"Did anyone report her missing?" Natalie asked.

He gave a nervous laugh. "Missing girls don't make headlines when they're tied to powerful men."

Amara felt a chill. "Markus?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Petr glanced at the door, then slid a USB drive across the table. "One file. Audio. From a flagged diplomatic call. It was supposed to be deleted."

"If this helps us find her, you did the right thing," Amara said.

He looked pained. "You might wish you hadn't."

---

Safehouse — Two Hours Later

The room was silent as the audio file played from Natalie's laptop.

Markus: "She's getting anxious. Asking about travel papers. Threatening to talk."

Unknown voice: "If she leaves, this whole operation unravels. Keep her quiet. Use the clinic if needed."

Markus: "She trusts me. She'll go."

Natalie slammed the laptop shut. "We find the clinic, we find what happened to Jana."

Amara gritted her teeth. "Let's move."

---

Matopeni — Outskirts of Nairobi

The Adler Wellness Centre didn't appear on any health directories. But Natalie had mapped out every location linked to Markus's business front, and this one stood out—hidden under a shell company, and fully funded.

They arrived by mid-afternoon. The heat baked the cracked pavement as they stepped into the compound. The building was painted a sterile white, with well-trimmed hedges and a too-quiet atmosphere.

Amara signed in as "Miriam Wanjiru," claiming to inquire about trauma recovery programs. Natalie posed as a journalist doing a feature on medical corruption.

A nurse with a professional smile guided them to the waiting lounge.

"I'll check out the archives," Natalie whispered before slipping down a hallway.

Amara remained seated, eyes scanning the pristine walls. Brochures lined the rack beside her: "A New Day, A New You." But something felt wrong—clinical, forced.

A framed poster on the far wall caught her eye. The slogan read, "Hope Lives Here," with a smiling woman beneath it.

The woman had short hair, fair skin, and unmistakably Eastern European features.

Amara stood and moved closer. Her heart pounded.

Jana. It was her. Younger. Happier. Oblivious.

She slipped past the hallway marked "Staff Only." A door stood slightly ajar—a record room. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Folders. Shelves. Labels in faded ink.

She flipped through them until she found one: Kalinová, Jana.

Inside were patient reports. Diagnoses. Psychological assessments. Prescriptions for anxiety, paranoia, and "delusional fixation."

One discharge note: "Relocated to secure property. April 23, 2018. Destination: undisclosed."

Footsteps.

A shadow crossed the hallway outside.

"Amara!" Natalie's whisper cut through the air. "We have to go. Security's on alert."

Amara snapped photos of the file and slipped out. Together, they ran through the emergency stairwell and burst out a side door, ducking into the alley. A guard shouted behind them, but they vanished into the maze of city streets.

---

Back at Safehouse

Natalie pored over the images. "They institutionalized her. Probably to silence her."

"Or break her," Amara added quietly.

"I've seen clinics like that before. They drug patients into silence. Markus didn't kill her… he erased her."

"But what if she's still alive?" Amara asked.

"Then we'll find her."

---

Meanwhile — Markus's Penthouse

The city glittered below as Markus stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, sipping whiskey. Mikhail entered quietly.

"They found the clinic."

Markus didn't flinch. "Did they take anything?"

"Photos. Kalinová's file."

He turned slowly. "Then it's time to remind them who owns this game."

Mikhail hesitated. "What about her sister?"

Markus smiled. "Start there."

He picked up his phone. "Protocol 11. No more warnings."

---

Rooftop of Safehouse — Nightfall

Nairobi shimmered like a thousand secrets held between stars. Amara leaned against the railing, a scarf tied in her hair, arms crossed against the breeze.

"He promised me peace," she said. "A life. Love."

Natalie joined her, arms folded. "He promised Jana too."

Amara's voice trembled. "If I hadn't met you… I might've ended up just like her. Forgotten. Drugged. Buried in silence."

"You're stronger than him, Amara."

Amara looked up, eyes fierce. "He doesn't know what it's like to be cornered by life. Poverty. Family depending on you. That makes people fight harder."

Natalie gave her a small smile. "And now he's about to see what a real fight looks like."

---

Midnight — Safehouse Bedroom

Amara's phone buzzed.

Her heart skipped.

Caller ID: Little Sister ❤️

She answered quickly. "Safi?"

Her little sister's voice was hushed. "Dada… there's a man outside our house. He's been standing there for an hour. Mama is scared."

Amara's blood froze. "Don't open the door. Lock everything. Go stay in Mama's room. I'll send someone."

She ran to Natalie. "He's going after my family."

Natalie didn't blink. "Then we bring the storm to his doorstep."