On the third day my son went missing, I hacked into every smart system in our building. All 202 residents, from octogenarians to infants, were locked inside their homes. I sent my first message to the residents’ SnapChat group: “My son, Leo, is somewhere in this building. From now on, every hour, I’ll expose one family’s secret. If we don’t find Leo, we all die.” A multi-millionaire CEO in the group exploded in rage: “Are you insane?! What does your son being missing have to do with us?! I demand you stop this immediately!” I typed out my second message, attaching a screenshot of an encrypted financial statement. “@Mr. Henderson from 1502, you have fifty-nine minutes left. Friendly reminder: check your offshore accounts. See if the IRS would be interested.” I knew my son was watching someone in this building. … Three minutes earlier, the group chat was still full of fake sympathy. “@Sarah Miller from 801, any news on Leo? We’re all so worried.” “Yeah, Sarah, just say the word if you need help. We can even crowdfund for you.” “Did building management check the surveillance footage? What did the police say?” I leaned against the cold wall, staring at the warm words on my phone screen. Leo had been missing for 72 hours. Three days. The critical hours were slipping away, second by second. The police said the last surveillance footage showed Leo in the ground floor lobby. He was waving, seemingly at someone he knew, then skipped into the elevator of Tower B. “The Zenith Tower” is one of the most exclusive residential buildings in the city, with tight security; you need facial recognition to get in and out. The police checked all visitor logs. Nothing. So, whoever took Leo had to be a resident of this building. They went door-to-door, but everyone claimed they hadn’t seen him. The officer tried to calm me: “Please, don’t get too agitated, ma’am. We’ll expand our search.” Expand the search? My son was in this cage of steel and concrete! I took a deep breath, typed the last string of code into my laptop, and hit Enter. Instantly, the entire building emitted a low hum. All elevators stopped, all electronic door locks engaged automatically, the central air conditioning ceased, and I physically cut off the internet signal, leaving only a private network I’d set up. The residents’ SnapChat group blew up. “What the hell?! Did the power go out?!” “It’s not a blackout! All smart home systems are haywire!” “The doors won’t open! Management! Where the hell is building management?!” I calmly sent my first message to the group. After a second of dead silence, curses and panic erupted like a burst dam. Mr. Henderson from 1502 was a flashy CEO who’d made his fortune in fintech. He was the first to lash out: “You’re effing crazy! This is illegal detainment! I’m calling the police right now!” I sent out the screenshot I’d prepared. It was an internal financial statement from his company, showing a massive sum of money routed through a dozen shell companies, ultimately ending up in an offshore tax haven. I typed: “Mr. Henderson, you can certainly call the police. But when they arrive, they might want to talk to you first about commercial fraud and tax evasion. After all, the amount looks like enough to get you a life sentence.” Mr. Henderson went silent instantly. The group fell quiet again. I looked at Leo’s photo on the wall; he was smiling, showing his adorable little fangs. “Fifty-eight minutes left,” I whispered to the empty air. “Mommy will find you.” Chapter Two Ten minutes later, police sirens wailed downstairs. Detective Hayes, leading the team, shouted through a megaphone: “Sarah Miller! Calm down! Your actions constitute a serious crime! Restore the building’s systems immediately, and we can discuss everything!” I walked to the window and pulled open a sliver of the curtain. Downstairs, police lights flashed, the area was cordoned off, and media reporters, like sharks smelling blood, were trying to break through the perimeter. I didn’t respond to Detective Hayes. Instead, I sent my second message to the residents’ SnapChat group. “Dear neighbors, I know you’re innocent, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want my son back. From now on, I need you to do three things. First, you can knock on each other’s doors to confirm if your neighbors are okay. Then, think back carefully to three days ago, between 4 PM and 6 PM. Who did you see? What unusual sounds did you hear? Finally, send any clues to me or hand them over to Detective Hayes downstairs.” “Remember, you’re not just saving my son; you’re saving yourselves. After all, no one wants their deepest, darkest secrets to become everyone’s favorite scandal.” Those words hit a raw nerve for everyone in this building. What kind of people lived in The Zenith Tower? Entrepreneurs, doctors, lawyers, celebrities… Everyone wore a dazzling mask, but how much filth and disgrace lay hidden beneath? Someone in the group immediately responded. “@Professor Thorne from 1204, why is there so much noise from your place? Are you renovating?” “@Mrs. Davies from 1808, isn’t your husband away on a business trip? I thought I heard a man’s voice from your apartment.” “@Everyone, who can get into the building’s surveillance room? I can’t possibly see every corner on my own!” Panic and suspicion began to spread. The thin facade of neighborly harmony was ripped apart by my single act. Detective Hayes was still pleading downstairs: “Sarah Miller, we understand how you feel, but you can’t solve problems the wrong way! You’re defying the law!” I picked up a Bluetooth speaker, placed it by the window, and turned the volume to maximum. “Detective Hayes, you heard them. The power of the people is immense. My neighbors will find the clues you couldn’t find in three days, in just one hour.” “And don’t even think about breaking in or cutting the power. The building’s fire safety system and gas lines are also connected to my network. I wouldn’t want any ‘accidents’ to happen.” Detective Hayes went silent instantly. A young officer next to him whispered: “Detective, the tech team says the subject is a top-level expert. The firewall is too complex; it’ll take at least six hours to crack.” Six hours? It’ll be too late by then. Detective Hayes picked up his megaphone, his voice hoarse: “Alright! We’ll search! We’ll help you search! Just don’t do anything reckless!” I watched the countdown on the screen: thirty-five minutes. Chapter Three The first hour’s countdown ended. In the residents’ group, there were over a dozen clues, some believable, some not, but none pointed to Leo. Mr. Henderson sent an angry emoji to the group: “Sarah Miller! Time’s up! What the hell do you want?!” Many people chimed in, thinking I was just bluffing. I didn’t reply. Instead, I dropped a link directly into the group. It was a cloud drive with only one video file. The video’s thumbnail showed Mr. Henderson from 1502 and a new female intern from his company. The location: his office’s breakroom. The time: last week, when his wife was abroad visiting their daughter. The entire building heard a roar of rage and crashing sounds coming from unit 1502. I calmly typed the next line. “Next up, @Dr. Reed from 2101. Fifty-nine minutes left.” Dr. Reed from 2101 was a famous cardiac surgeon in the city, highly respected, and often appeared on TV shows. He immediately replied in the group: “Ms. Miller, I don’t know why you’re targeting me. Everything at my home is normal, and I’m willing to cooperate with any police investigation.” His posture was humble, seeming completely above board. Detective Hayes shouted downstairs again: “Sarah Miller! You’re already breaking the law! Publishing someone else’s private information is a crime!” I sneered. Talk about privacy with a scumbag who might have killed my son? I replied to Detective Hayes: “If Dr. Reed’s privacy can buy back my son’s life, I’m willing to go to jail.” “Detective Hayes, I advise you not to just focus on me. Check my neighbors too. The killer might be among them.” That statement instantly shattered any semblance of shared outrage that had just started to build in the building. Yes, someone in here, or a group of people, took my Leo. Who was it? My gaze fell on the most insignificant clue. It was from Chloe, a young tenant in 703. She said that three days ago in the afternoon, she thought she heard the faint, intermittent sound of a child playing with marbles in the hallway. It was very clear. Marbles? Leo’s favorite toy was a set of glass marbles. I remembered he had a few in his pocket when he left that day. What floor did the sound come from? The girl said she wasn’t sure. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs, or maybe downstairs. The soundproofing in this building was excellent. Hearing it meant the source wasn’t far. I immediately pulled up the hallway surveillance for the 7th, 8th, and 6th floors. But just like what the police had seen before, there was nothing. No, wait. I rewound the surveillance footage from my door at 801, back to 4:30 PM, three days ago. In the frame, the rug by my door was empty. I fast-forwarded the timeline. 4:40 PM. A cleaning lady pushed her cart past. 4:41 PM. The cleaning lady left. And on the edge of the rug by my door, something new appeared. A blue glass marble. Chapter Four My heart pounded. This marble was the first physical evidence since Leo disappeared! Why was it at my door? Was it a signal left by Leo himself, or a taunt from the culprit? The cleaning lady! I immediately @ the building manager in the group: “Send me the list and photos of all cleaning staff on duty recently! Now!” The building manager was terrified and didn’t dare to delay. Within seconds, a list came through. The cleaning lady in the photo was Mrs. Stone, in her fifties, with an honest, trustworthy face. I sent the surveillance screenshot to the group: “@Everyone, who knows this Mrs. Stone? Which floors does she clean? Where is she now?” Someone in the group immediately replied. “Mrs. Stone is a lovely lady, very hardworking.” “She usually handles the higher floors, 12th to 22nd.” “I don’t think she came in today?” I immediately had a bad feeling. I switched my computer screen and began to hack into the city’s traffic surveillance system. My husband, Ryan, is a cybersecurity architect. Over the years, being around him, I’d picked up a few things. And the tools he left on his home computer were top-notch. I entered Mrs. Stone’s ID number, which I’d gotten from the building manager. Soon, I located her address: an old, run-down neighborhood. At the same time, Detective Hayes’s team was in motion. “Sarah Miller, we’ve sent officers to find this cleaning lady! Don’t get agitated, it might just be a coincidence!” A coincidence? There aren’t that many coincidences in the world. While tracking the police car’s route to the old neighborhood, I kept a close eye on the residents’ group chat. Only ten minutes remained on the second hour’s countdown. Dr. Reed from 2101 suddenly posted a very long message in the group. He said: “Ms. Miller, I understand your feelings as a mother. How about this: I’m willing to offer a one-million-dollar reward for anyone who can provide information about Leo. I’ll pay for it myself, just please stop doing things that harm everyone.” His words instantly won him a lot of goodwill. “Dr. Reed is such a good person!” “Sarah Miller, did you hear that? Dr. Reed said he’d pay! What more do you want?” If I didn’t have dirt on him, would he be so kind? I ignored him and said to my computer: “Ryan, are you ready?” From the computer’s speakers, my husband’s tired but resolute voice replied: “Ready. Can activate anytime.” Ryan was in the USA, across the Pacific. He was my backup, and my last resort. Countdown, final minute. In the group, everyone held their breath, waiting to see what earth-shattering scandal would be exposed about Dr. Reed. Dr. Reed himself was so nervous he sent countless “please” emojis in the group. Time was up. I didn’t send any link. I just sent one sentence. “@Dr. Reed from 2101, your wife just threw all three of your computers and all your hard drives out the window.” Downstairs, there were gasps and the loud crash of heavy objects falling. Immediately followed by Dr. Reed’s hysterical roar from unit 210 I closed the residents’ SnapChat group. I knew Dr. Reed was finished. The records of all the illegal organ transplants he’d performed over the years were enough to get him a life sentence. Finally, I got a call from Detective Hayes. His voice was filled with shock and disbelief. “Sarah Miller… we found the cleaning lady.” “She hanged herself… in her home.” Chapter Five My mind went blank with a loud 嗡. The lead was gone, again. Detective Hayes’s urgent voice came through the phone: “Sarah Miller! Listen to me! This might be more complicated than we thought! You need to lift the system lockdown immediately! We need to get in and investigate! Mrs. Stone’s death might be directly connected to your son’s disappearance!”
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