Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.” No lies there.
The waiter returns to serve our coffee. Aletta stirs in one sugar and milk. “In that case, it must be for better money. God knows, she can do with every extra cent.”
“I’m concerned about her financial welfare, which is why I wanted to meet. Valentina doesn’t know about it, of course. She’s proud. I’d appreciate it if we can keep this discussion between us.”
She blows on the coffee, watching me from over the rim. “What are you asking me?”
“How much does she owe?”
“Isn’t that a question you should ask her?”
“All right. I’ll rephrase that. How much does a veterinary degree cost these days?”
“You’re looking at roughly fifty thousand a year, excluding books and material.”
“I know how much she earned before she started working for me. How did she manage?”
“She has a partial bursary, but it’s not enough to cover everything.”
“Is she a good student?”
“Honestly? She’s hands-down the best I’ve ever had. Her grades are top, but that girl has a natural vet in her. I’ve never seen animals react to anyone like they behave toward her.”
You bet. “Then how come she secured only a partial bursary?”
“With the financial collapse and political unrest there’s very little left in the university coffers. There are no full-time bursaries for vet students. I’m donating her books, but as you said, she’s proud. Luckily, Valentina is also strong. Becoming a vet is her dream. She’ll find a way.”
The food arrives. The waiter arranges the salt and juice, shifting it around several times before he can fit the plates.
I’ve never had to worry about money. If I want something, I go out and buy it. I can’t imagine what it’s like to work your fingers to the bone and worry about covering your bills, which is ironic coming from a man who makes money from other people’s financial troubles.
I lean back in my chair. “If I’m to create a bursary, can I choose to who it’ll go?”
The knife stills in her hand. “Yes.” She looks at me with mild surprise. “You can name the beneficiary.”
“The beneficiary doesn’t need to know who the sponsor is?”
A smile warms her eyes. “You can call the bursary whatever you want. It doesn’t have to carry your name, and it can certainly be anonymous.”
I lean my elbows on the table and tip my fingers together. “In that case, I’d like to offer a full bursary, all expenses paid.”
Her smile turns ten degrees warmer. “I’ll put you in touch with the right person in finance.”
“Monday.” I want to pave this road for Valentina as soon as possible.
“Gotcha.” She takes a bite, chews slowly, and swallows. “You know, I had my doubts about you.”
“Yes?”
“I thought you were going to tell me Valentina’s studies are interfering with her job.”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.”
“I’m glad I was wrong.”
She has no idea.
* * *
After breakfast, I text my private banker and give instruction for the bursary to be set up. Then I head to Rosettenville. I drive past the address in my file, the house in which Valentina grew up. It’s a humble miner’s house, the cheap, cookie-cutter type the gold mines constructed for their workers and later sold to private owners. In this street, everything looks the same. It’s hard to imagine someone like Valentina walking the streets of this average and dull neighborhood. She belongs someplace exotic, someplace beautiful. The main street that houses most of the commercial businesses is quiet. The shops are closed on the weekend. At the mechanic workshop, I park my car and tuck the gun into the back of my waistband. Lambert Roos lives in a house adjoining the workshop. The simple dwelling has a low wall in front, an easy target for thieves. With the fall of Hillbrow and downtown, Rosettenville became a dangerous neighborhood. The fact that he hasn’t raised the wall and fitted it with electrified barbwire tells me one of two things. Either he’s too poor or he’s powerful enough for criminals not to fuck with him. Judging from the peeled paint on the walls and the missing roof tiles, I’m putting my money on the first option.
I jump over the wall and bang on the door. Footsteps shuffle inside.
“Who is it?” a male voice calls.
“Gabriel Louw.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation before the door swings open on a crack. A short, bald man dressed in a vest and a pair of boxer shorts regards me with skepticism. He shoots a look over my shoulder, his gaze traveling up and down the street.
“I’m alone,” I say with a cold smile.
“Well, well, if it ain’t Owen’s ugly duckling. Howzit?”
I should kill him for that remark, but I need information. Shoving past him, I make my way into his house. The place smells like old socks and stale cabbage. The carpets are worn, and the furniture has seen better days. Business must be slow. Or maybe not. On the table, there are several bags filled with white powder. Coke or maybe cat.