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Title: Content: McBride didn�t need the reminder. In this organization, consequences were never mild�they were final. But now, he had no choice. He had to ask Lesley to clean up the mess�again. The second time in a month, each request chipped away at his pride and pushed him closer to a line he wasn�t sure he could survive crossing. At exactly eleven o�clock�one hour before the day officially ended�McBride picked up his phone and dialed Lesley. The line clicked almost immediately. No greeting, just a low, expectant silence, heavier than any words. �Lesley,� McBride said, his voice tighter than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to project a control he didn�t feel. �It�s McBride.� The pause that followed wasn�t accidental. It was a calculated beat�a silent reminder of who truly held power in this exchange. When Lesley Black finally spoke, his tone was stripped bare, flat and cool, the voice of a man already tallying the cost of failure. �Minister� You�re calling late. I assume this isn�t a social call. Report...� McBride squeezed his eyes shut, picturing the man on the other end: impeccably dressed, seated in his study, a glass of whiskey untouched as he focused entirely on the storm brewing. �Mazibuko,� McBride began, the name tasting like ash. �He hasn�t delivered. Six hours since our last word�nothing, He�s gone dark.� The silence that followed was suffocating. McBride could almost hear the gears turning. �Six hours,� Lesley repeated his tone flat as glass. �You gave a police lieutenant�our police lieutenant�a six-hour leash? Enlighten me, Minister.� �He was inside the station, Lesley. The same station where Kgole works�that was the point: He could make it vanish quietly.� �And yet�� Lesley�s voice sharpened, honed to a blade. �He hasn�t. Instead, the man we pay to keep our name clean is now radio silent. Tell me again how this was under control.� Page Number: Update Page