Simon Clark felt as though the world had collapsed inward, as if the ground beneath him had suddenly been ripped away. For years he had imagined reasons for his abandonment — neglect, desperation, indifference — but the truth Shane had handed him was sharper than anything he had prepared for.
The past refused to stay abstract now.
The Eco System Summit replayed in his mind: polite laughter, the packed hall, the delegation from Kampala. And there it was again — the handshake. The name he'd barely noticed at the time.
Yusufu Matovu.
The realisation landed with brutal clarity. The man he had spoken with so easily was not just part of his story — he was its origin. Not a father in any sense that brought comfort or closure, but the man who had violently shaped his life before it even began.
Simon pressed his hands to his temples, but the image persisted. If not for the truth, he might have felt relief at finally knowing where he came from. Instead, the knowledge hollowed him out.
Shane watched him closely. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I wish I didn't have to be the one to tell you."
Simon shook his head. "I'm not quiet because of you." His voice was thick with shock. "I just… need time for it to land."
Then one clear thought cut through the fog: Tom. If anyone could uncover the full truth about Matovu — past, present, leverage — it was him. Action, however small, was the only thing keeping Simon upright.
"Thank you," he said finally, meeting Shane's eyes. "For trusting me with this."
The brothers sat together as evening settled over the city, the lights outside flickering on with indifferent precision.
The door opened softly.
Tom entered and immediately took in the room — the stillness, the weight in Simon's posture. He set his phone down on the table and sat.
"You've found something," Simon said.
Tom nodded. "About Sarah Miller and Andrew Morris."
He folded his hands together. "They didn't grow up as they pretend. Both come from money — old money — that collapsed around them. Hard."
Sarah's father had been a senior investment banker. When the 2008 crash hit, everything followed: debt, investigations, the loss of their home. Public disgrace, quietly buried where possible. Sarah was sixteen. Old enough to remember exactly what she lost.
Andrew's family story was similar. Property wealth built on unstable loans, some of them illegal. When investors pulled out, the collapse was fast. Bailiffs, lawsuits, a family that fractured under the strain.
"They lost their positions in the world," Tom said evenly. "But they kept their entitlement."
Shane frowned. "So why come after Simon?"
"They didn't at first," Tom replied. "When they applied for jobs at your company, they didn't know who you were. To them, it was just another corporation — until they realised the CEO was you."
Simon's chest tightened.
"They erased you years ago," Tom continued. "Reduced you to a joke they no longer needed to remember. Seeing you in power — successful, untouchable — shattered whatever sense of order they still clung to."
Tom leaned forward. "What you represent terrifies them. You are proof that their rules failed."
"So Aoife…" Simon said slowly.
"A paid disruption," Tom confirmed. "Intended to destabilise you. Humiliate you. Remind you of where they thought you belonged."
Shane shook his head. "How far will they go?"
"They're probing," Tom said. "Watching calendars. Planting rumours. Testing pressure points. But they're clumsy. Desperate."
Simon exhaled, something inside him hardening. "They lost everything — so they decided I shouldn't be allowed to keep what I built."
"Exactly," Tom said. "But you're not the boy they remember."
The room fell quiet again — different this time. The shock remained, but beneath it something steadier had begun to form.
"What do we do?" Shane asked.
Tom answered without hesitation. "We don't hide. I'll have eyes on them. Quietly. If they move again, we'll know."
Simon squared his shoulders. "No more cowering. No more letting their poison touch what I've built."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "Let them see what a bus‑stop boy can do."
Tom nodded, approval clear in his eyes.
Outside, the city moved on — restless, indifferent. Inside, three men sat together: bruised, but unbroken. The past had finally surfaced.
And it was no longer in control.