21
YING SAT, SHAKEN. We dragged her back to the office space, explaining again and again we were the police. I had to take off my Sabi slip and show her my stock avatar, then give her a detailed account of our little confrontation at the press conference to convince her. As her realization dawned, she burst into relieved tears and slumped to the ground.
Files were scattered all around the room—paper, disks, memory buttons. Some were in uniform piles. Most were a mess. There had been some kind of struggle. A desk was smashed. A tall statue of a Buddha was snapped in half on the ground. A bookshelf had been broken, its contents half on the floor. I was about to start grilling Yu Ying when the front door swung slowly open. Odd, I thought, until I remembered the broken lock. I went back and
