Nathan stood at the head of the long mahogany conference table, a digital map projected behind him.
"This is the plot in Goreangab," he said, tapping the screen. "We're set to begin operations here. The land is currently occupied by five households. They've been notified and are to vacate within five days. The area houses nearly two thousand people—mostly youth, students, and daily commuters. It's a prime location. We estimate a 20% monthly profit margin."
He turned to face the boardroom. "I've already purchased the land through the municipality and yet to secure the initial consent from the residents. Once their paperwork is processed, construction begins."
John raised his head slowly, hesitant. "Sir, what about the residents? Some of them barely have enough to survive—how can they rebuild?"
Nathan's tone sharpened. "They'll be moved to the municipality's new settlement. Each family will receive a free serviced plot. Materials, however, are their responsibility. We're not a charity, John. Our business is development, not welfare."
John opened his mouth again, but Damien cut him off.
"The relocation logistics fall to the municipality. Tomorrow, I'll meet with the five families to have them sign the agreement letters. After that, it's full steam ahead."
John leaned back in his chair, visibly troubled. The project may have been lucrative, but something about the displacement didn't sit right with him.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Catty stood in the kitchen like a foreigner in her own home, surrounded by utensils and uncertainty.
She whispered to the empty air. "Paige… after all these years, I'm back in the kitchen. Remember how we used to experiment with those awful snack recipes? God, we were wild. You'd laugh at me now. I can't even boil water properly."
Her lips quivered into a sad smile. "I want to cook for Nate—something that'll make him fall in love with me all over again. You probably don't know him… he's my fiancé now. My new friend. But you're not replaced, Paige. No one ever will."
Just then, Betty walked in.
"Catty?" she asked, startled to see her niece lingering near the stove.
Catty quickly wiped her tears and forced a smile. "Oh… Auntie."
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Actually, I wanted to cook something for Nate. But I don't even know what he likes."
Betty chuckled warmly. "That one eats everything. Never been picky, at least not with food."
"Oh... well, that's something." Catty nodded, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I was about to make lunch. Let's cook together?"
"Yes!" Catty blurted out, a little too enthusiastically.
They began. Catty stood stiffly as Betty moved with ease. She tried to light the gas but fumbled.
"Can you help me with the lighter?"
"Of course." Betty handed it over.
Catty reached for a pack of noodles and followed a YouTube video. Within minutes, the pot was boiling over, the noodles mushy beyond saving, and her hand bore a small burn.
"You okay?" Betty asked.
"I don't know how to cook!" Catty snapped, then sighed. "I was raised in a hostel, Auntie. I lived on fast food and snacks. I don't have family—my parents sent me away to Spain when I was ten. I never learned… anything normal."
Betty softened, her voice gentle. "You poor girl… alright, let's toss those. We'll start fresh, together."
Elsewhere, Ruben and his team arrived at the Ministry of Home Affairs. Hours later, they emerged grim-faced. Paige's death was confirmed—no forgery, no illusion. Just cold, brutal fact.
Ruben shook his head. "That's it then. We close the case."
"No," someone said behind him. "We don't close it. We redirect it."
"To who?"
Ruben turned, his eyes hardening. "Aid."