The courtroom hearing was only one week away.
Every day seemed longer than the last.
Although life at Sikalima Farm continued, everyone's thoughts were fixed on the coming trial.
The workers repaired fences.
The cattle grazed peacefully.
The poultry business remained busy.
But beneath every smile was the same question.
Would they lose the land?
---
Early one Monday morning, Mubita stood beside the northern boundary with Officer Mwansa and the government surveyors.
The old boundary stones remained exactly where they had been for decades.
Officer Mwansa folded his notebook.
"The evidence is on your side."
Mubita nodded.
"I only hope the court sees it that way."
The officer looked thoughtful.
"Court cases aren't won by emotions."
"They're won by evidence."
"We have maps."
"We have the ledger."
"We have photographs."
Mubita sighed.
"I still feel something is missing."
---
Back at the farmhouse, Mr. Sikalima continued searching through his late father's belongings.
The office looked more like an archive than a workplace.
Old trunks lined the walls.
Bundles of faded letters lay neatly stacked on the floor.
Mrs. Bwalya entered carrying tea.
"You've hardly rested."
"I'll rest after the hearing."
She smiled gently.
"Your father would probably tell you to stop worrying."
Mr. Sikalima laughed softly.
"He probably would."
As he reached into another wooden chest, his hand touched a small metal box hidden beneath several blankets.
He frowned.
"I don't remember this."
The box was locked.
Its brass surface had turned green with age.
"What do you suppose is inside?" Mrs. Bwalya asked.
"I have no idea."
---
Later that afternoon, Hamusonde slowly examined the old box.
He smiled immediately.
"I know this lock."
"You do?"
"Your father used to keep important papers in boxes like this."
He carefully removed an old key from the chain hanging around his neck.
"I've carried this for nearly forty years."
Everyone stared in surprise.
"You never told us."
"No one ever asked."
He inserted the key.
Click.
The lock opened.
Inside were neatly folded documents wrapped in cloth.
There were several official government letters.
Old receipts.
A survey certificate.
And...
A handwritten letter.
The envelope was addressed to 'Whoever protects this farm after me.'
The room became silent.
Mr. Sikalima carefully unfolded the letter.
It was written by his late father.
---
"My son,
If you are reading this, then I have already gone to be with the Lord.
Never forget that land attracts both honest people and greedy people.
One day someone may claim what does not belong to them.
If that day comes, remember this:
The true boundary of this farm is not only written on government maps.
It is also known by those who stood beside me when the land was measured.
Do not forget old friends.
Do not ignore old witnesses.
Truth grows stronger with age."
Mr. Sikalima stopped reading.
His hands trembled.
Hamusonde suddenly stood.
"The witnesses..."
Everyone looked at him.
"There was another surveyor."
"What?"
"He retired to Monze."
"He was much younger than your father."
"If he's still alive..."
"He can testify."
Mubita's eyes widened.
"Do you remember his name?"
Hamusonde closed his eyes.
For several seconds he searched his memory.
Then he smiled.
"Mr. Daniel Mwewa."
---
The following morning, Mubita, Officer Mwansa, and Luyando set off for Monze.
The journey took several hours.
After asking around town, they eventually found a small brick house on the edge of the community.
An elderly man sat beneath a guava tree reading a newspaper.
"Good afternoon."
The old man looked up.
"Good afternoon."
"Are you Mr. Daniel Mwewa?"
"I am."
"My name is Mubita."
"We've come from Sikalima Farm."
The old man's eyes widened.
"Sikalima..."
"I haven't heard that name in years."
---
Inside the house, Mubita explained everything.
The land dispute.
The forged documents.
The coming court hearing.
Mr. Mwewa listened without interrupting.
Finally, he stood slowly and walked to an old cupboard.
From inside, he removed a worn leather folder.
"I wondered whether anyone would ever need these."
He placed several documents on the table.
One was the original field notebook he had used during the boundary survey over forty years earlier.
Every measurement.
Every landmark.
Every boundary stone.
Everything had been recorded by hand.
Officer Mwansa smiled.
"This is incredible."
Mr. Mwewa nodded.
"I always kept copies."
"You never know when history becomes important."
---
As they prepared to leave, Mubita hesitated.
"Would you be willing to testify in court?"
The old surveyor smiled.
"I made those measurements."
"I watched your father's hands place the boundary stones."
"I have waited forty years to defend the truth."
"I'll be there."
---
Back at Green Horizon's headquarters, Victor Ndlovu received unexpected news.
His lawyer entered the office looking worried.
"Sir..."
"What now?"
"They've found the original surveyor."
Victor's confident smile disappeared.
"What?"
"And he still has his field records."
Victor slammed his fist onto the desk.
"Impossible."
The lawyer shook his head.
"I'm afraid our case has become much more difficult."
Victor walked toward the window in silence.
For the first time since beginning the land dispute...
He realized he might lose.
But defeat was not something he accepted easily.
He slowly picked up his phone.
"There is one final option."
The lawyer looked uneasy.
"What are you planning?"
Victor's expression hardened.
"If the witness cannot speak..."
"...the truth cannot be heard."
Far away, unaware of the danger that now surrounded him, Mr. Daniel Mwewa sat peacefully on his veranda, watching the sunset.
He had agreed to tell the truth in court.
Someone else had already decided that he must never reach it.