Zwane’s two remaining sons are a mess. They can’t get their heads around what has happened to their family. They react in different ways. Ntozakhe, the middle son, is on his cell phone most hours, calling lawyers and law professors from different universities, trying to get them to join both his brother’s and mother’s defence teams. Mncedisi, the youngest son, retreats into himself — he has become even more quiet than he was before.

Ntozakhe plunges his body into the couch. He breathes out exasperation. Mncedisi is on the opposite couch, watching soccer highlights.

“What are other lawyers saying? Can they help Ma and Nkosinathi?” asks Mncedisi.

“This thing is so complicated. Some are willing to come on board, but they are expensive. I’m getting worried about Ma. Life in jail cannot be easy for her with all her ailments. I’m just praying we can get her out on bail at least,” says Ntozakhe.

“I have a solution to end all of this,” says Mncedisi.

Ntozakhe’s cell phone rings. It’s an important call from a law professor that he has asked to be part of the defence team. He picks up the call. As he chats with the law professor, Mncedisi leaves the lounge. Ntozakhe talks for a long time with the law professor. He doesn’t realise that Mncedisi has left the house and is driving to the police station.

By the time Ntozakhe finishes with the call, Mncedisi has parked outside the police station. He takes out his cell phone and dials Ntozakhe’s number.

“I have great news, Mncedisi. The law professor has agreed to join—”

“Did you know Baba was going to divorce Ma?” says Mncedisi coldly.

“Where did you get that from, Mncedisi?”

“I heard Baba talking to his lawyer on the phone. He was going to cut us out of his will,” says Mncedisi.

Ntozakhe feels the coldness in his younger brother’s response.

“Did you tell anyone about that, Mncedisi?”

“No. He wanted us out. He was going to abandon us.”

Mncedisi stops talking and weeps.

“Mncedisi! What is going on?”

“In my backpack I have the clothes I was wearing when I did it,” Mncedisi says, through tears.

“Did what, Mncedisi?” Ntozakhe also starts to weep.

“My T-shirt still has his blood. He was watching TV. I was wearing gloves. I took the gun out of his safe. Nkosinathi was in his room, drunk out of his mind and snoring. I took his fingers, put them on the handle of Baba’s gun. I wanted to frame Nkosinathi because he always said I was weak. I just walked up to Baba while he was watching TV and shot him. The T-shirt and the shorts in my backpack still have his blood!” Mncedisi weeps.

“Where are you, Mncedisi!?” Ntozakhe shouts into his cell phone.

“I’m at the police station. I’m going to end all of this. I’m going in to confess. I’ll show them my clothes with Baba’s blood,” says Mncedisi.

“Mncedisi! Mncedisi!” Ntozakhe screams. He calls back but Mncedisi has switched off his cell phone.

Mncedisi walks into the police station and finds Detective Mlaba. He gives Detective Mlaba the clothes he was wearing the day he shot his father at point-blank range. Detective Mlaba spreads the T-shirt and shorts on the table. He looks at the clothes and then at Mncedisi.

“I killed Baba, Detective Mlaba. Not Ma, not Nkosinathi. I shot Baba,” says Mncedisi coldly.

In the end, Nkosinathi gets 12 years for carjacking. MaMbhele gets 18 months for perjury and defeating the ends of justice. Mncedisi gets 25 years for murder. Ntozakhe is left alone to pick up the pieces of his broken family. He changes his ways and runs his father’s empire in a good way.

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