The arrest of Mrs. Mulenga was the spark that set the dry grass of the financial sector on fire. Within hours of the morning assembly, the "Librarian's" arrest was trending globally. But while the students of ZIA celebrated, the screens in the Lusaka Stock Exchange were bleeding red.
The Consortium hadn't just been a group of investors; they were the backbone of the country's credit line. Now that their "Guardian" was in custody and their shadow accounts were threatened, they did exactly what sharks do when they are wounded: they tore everything apart.
By noon, the ZMW (Zambian Kwacha) began a terrifying slide.
"They're pulling the plug," Zazu said, staring at his tablet in the Heritage Society's new office—which used to be Mrs. Mulenga's private study. "The Consortium has triggered a 'Capital Flight' clause. They're calling in every loan they've made to the school, the mines, and the government simultaneously."
Leya was sitting at the oak desk, her mother's manila envelope spread out before her. "They want to prove Mulenga was right. They want to show that without their 'order,' we'll collapse."
"The school's accounts are frozen," Musi said, walking in. He looked humbled, his usual designer shoes replaced by a pair of scuffed trainers. "The cafeteria staff are being told there's no money for the next delivery. The power company is threatening to cut the grid by sunset."
"We have the land," Leya reminded him, her voice firm. "They can freeze the money, but they can't freeze the soil. Zazu, how much is in the 'Legacy Fund'—the one the students control?"
"It's not enough to run a country," Zazu replied. "But it's enough to run a farm. And we have thirty hectares of un-utilized South Quad land."
The "Aftermath" wasn't a time for victory laps; it was a time for sweat. For the next week, the hierarchy of ZIA disappeared. The "Golden Boys" were out in the fields, guided by the children of the staff who actually knew how to till the earth. Leya traded her cello bow for a ledger of a different kind—a community resource map.
But the real battle was happening in the digital space. The Consortium's kill-switch had partially worked, locking the school's endowment in an encrypted loop.
"I can't break it," Sarah admitted, her fingers flying across a laptop keyboard in the basement. "Mulenga's code is a labyrinth. It's tied to a physical heartbeat sensor. Since she's in a high-security cell, the signal is weak. If it flatlines, the money is deleted forever."
"It's not about breaking it," Leya said, looking at the manila envelope. "It's about bypassing it. My mother didn't just leave a record of the debt. She left a record of the *collateral*."
Leya pulled out a small, faded map of the Copperbelt from the envelope. It wasn't marked with mines, but with "Environmental Reserves."
"The Consortium didn't want the money, Zazu," Leya realized. "They wanted the land rights. These reserves are sitting on the largest lithium deposits in Southern Africa. My mother hid the coordinates in the music she taught me. The 'Luapula Melody'... the rhythm wasn't just a song. It was a GPS sequence."
Zazu leaned in, his eyes wide. "If we reveal the location of the lithium to the state—not to the Board, but to the national sovereign fund—the Consortium loses their leverage. The country's credit score won't just recover; it will skyrocket."
"But if we do that," Musi warned, "we're handing that power to your father, Zazu. Are you sure he's any better than the Consortium?"
Zazu looked out the window at the students working together in the fields—the Prince, the Exile, and the Bully, all covered in the same red dust.
"My father is a man who wanted to be a king," Zazu said. "But he's also a man who loves this country. I think it's time he stopped being a king and started being a citizen."
The choice was made. They didn't leak the info to the press. They didn't sell it to the highest bidder. They walked, together, to the gates of State Lodge.
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