Silence Heir

Chapter2

Meanwhile, in another place. At the same time, Elario received the threat.

The sound of high heels echoed down the hallway of the Darcelle Hotel, where the Adrian Foundation’s regular charity ball was being held. Behind her elegant dark blue satin gown, Shakira slipped a tiny cell phone the size of her pinky finger into the slit of her right shoe. At first glance, she looked like a distinguished guest from high society. No one knew that her identity that night was fake, and no one realized she was spying on the most influential person in the building: Adrian Wicaksana.

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Amara,” Adrian greeted her, approaching her with a sly smile and a glass of red wine.

A fake name, a fake face, a fake smile.

Shakira bowed slightly. “It's an honor for me, Mr. Adrian. I heard you just won a philanthropy award from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?”

Adrian laughed. “Just a formality. Politics needs a stage, and I'm just playing my part.”

“And I’ll tear down your stage,” Shakira thought.

As usual, she played her role that night—a wealthy guest ready to invest in one of Adrian’s foundation projects. But her eyes stole every movement Adrian made, and her ears recorded the whispers between the guests. In silence, she observed the tall, well-built man in a black suit standing not far from the VIP table. Budi Kuncoro.

The man who was a shadow to anyone who knew too much.

The man who had appeared the night her mother disappeared.

After two hours of standing in the middle of the party, Shakira slipped into the back corridor of the hotel. Behind a door marked “STAFF ONLY,” she opened a hidden locker and pulled out a worn file. Inside was a black-and-white photo of a woman with her hair tied back. The name below it read:

Rahayu Astuti

Status: Missing – 1998

The last known location is the Gading Hotel, the night of the women’s activist meeting.

That was her mother.

Shakira put the photo back. She never knew who her father was. She was raised by an elderly woman who saved her from an orphanage with one message: “Don't trust anyone in a suit who talks about justice.”

That message proved even more true after the foundation’s gala two years ago. When she disguised herself as a waitress and recorded Adrian laughing and saying, “That activist's daughter has been buried for a long time, but sometimes her spirit appears in other forms…”

That’s what drew her into this game. She infiltrated Adrian’s network, posing as a donor, occasionally disappearing as an unofficial agent for someone within the prosecutor’s office. Someone she didn’t know by face, but who always gave her access to new evidence. Someone known by the code name E.

Her phone vibrated.

A message arrived from an unknown number. Just one sentence:

“We need to talk. Hotel Gardena. Now. – E”

For the first time, E called him directly.

Hotel Gardena, 11:47 PM

Shakira stepped into room 706 and deactivated all electronic devices on his body, including the sound transmitter in his right earring.

A man stood near the window, facing away from the light. Half his face was hidden in shadow. But from his posture and the glint in his eyes as he turned, she knew this was the man she had known only by his initials for two years—Elario.

“I didn't expect you to be here so soon,” Elario said, getting straight to the point.

“I don't have much time. The hotel cameras have been marked. We have fifteen minutes.”

Elario tossed an envelope onto the table. Shakira opened it. Inside was a copy of a fake medical certificate from Santoso Clinic, followed by two photos of the victim with altered data.

“The last victim... what's his name?” Shakira asked softly.

“Not recorded. But I know for sure she's part of the foundation's secret project. Taken from a remote village, her identity altered, then sent to Jakarta as a ‘foster child.’”

Shakira closed her eyes briefly. Her breath trembled. “They're repeating the same pattern...”

“And this isn't just about trafficking. There's one connection I haven't touched yet... Rahayu Astuti.”

Shakira turned sharply. Her eyes were sharp.

“Do you know who she is?” Elario asked.

Shakira remained silent momentarily, then answered slowly, “She’s my mother.”

Elario held his breath. All the pieces that didn’t fit suddenly fell into place. Shakira’s involvement was too deep. The courage was too great for an ordinary field agent. And now, everything was clear.

“I have the last recording from the night she disappeared. Taken from old police files. Her voice mentions one name...”

“Burhan?” Shakira interrupted quickly.

“No. Higher up. Someone Rahayu referred to as ‘The Silent One.’”

Shakira turned to the window. Below, Jakarta’s city lights shone like stars tangled in wires. But she could only see darkness.

“I know who that is,” she whispered. “It's... my father.”

Elario didn’t interrupt. He just stared at Shakira more intently.

“His name never appeared in any documents. But I know he’s important. Very important. My mother wrote him a letter before she disappeared. In it, she said: ‘If I don’t come home, protect our child. But I know you’re only good at keeping quiet and pretending to be blind.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly froze.

Shakira looked at Elario. “We can't wait any longer. If I'm right, my father is part of the protection network for Adrian. And I... I am the link that can expose everything.”

As they left the room, two men dressed in hotel uniforms stood in the hallway.

One of them was holding a phone and talking. Upon seeing Shakira and Elario, he immediately ended the call and gave a subtle nod.

Shakira gripped Elario’s hand. “They know we’re here.”

Elario pressed a small button on his watch. “The emergency phone is active. All recordings tonight will be sent directly to the cloud and a trusted journalist's account.”

Shakira looked at the man beside her. For the first time, they were truly on the same mission. And for the first time, both knew—they couldn’t back out. Their names were already on the hit list. Their lives were valued, not by the law, but by the powerful who feared the truth.