Chapter 3: Investigations Ignite
1310 Words
Qi Siheng's office was a glass-walled cell overlooking the city's neon sprawl. Behind him, a curved video wall pulsed with live data feeds: airport surveillance clips, social‑media sentiment graphs, encrypted chat logs. He stood before the primary screen, arms crossed, gaze fixed on Lin Wantang's arrival footage. The AI threat‑analysis overlay flickered annotations:
> **Subject:** Lin Wantang
> **Entry:** Unscheduled arrival, flagged at 05:47 AM
> **Associations:** “Phoenix Reborn" label; archived college forensic file stamped “eliminated"
> **Interest Score:** 87%
He tapped the screen. The airport image expanded: Wantang easing Jasper through customs, anxiety flickering across her face. Beside it, the glitch from the rehearsal feed—a two‑second flash of her college mug shot, brows furrowed in panic. Below, a database entry: **“Forensic Lab Incident, 2019—Case closed. Principal suspect: Lin Wantang (acquitted abroad)."**
Siheng exhaled, jaw tightening. He turned to Wen Tao, the corporate investigator waiting at the doorway. “I want a full dossier on her life post‑2019. Enrollment records, international business filings—everything."
Wen bowed. “Right away, Mr. Qi."
Siheng's eyes narrowed. “And pull every open‑source reference to 'Phoenix Reborn.' I want patents, trademarks, shipping manifests. If she's built an empire under our radar, I need to know how."
“Understood." Wen tapped at a tablet, summoning a cascade of documents on the side monitors.
Siheng strode to the window, watching traffic pulse below like blood cells through a vein. Six years ago, he'd thought her dead to him—an inconvenient wound, buried in scandal. Now she'd returned, bearing her son and a collection that threatened to eclipse—even embarrass—the Qi Group's own gala launch.
He clenched his fist. “Discretion is paramount. I don't want this in the papers."
Wen nodded. “All findings go directly to you. No leaks."
“Good." Siheng turned back to the hologram. “Keep an eye on that studio of hers. And flag any communications that reference 'son' or 'family.'"
---
On the riverside, Lin Wantang's rented loft gleamed with industrial chic. Exposed brick walls bore modular shelves crammed with gem cutters, CAD screens, and rows of 3‑D printers. The scent of solder and resin hung heavy in the air as she hovered over a laser sintering machine, swapping resin cartridges for a midnight‑blue polymer.
Jasper darted through the workspace, trailing toy cars across a table strewn with gem molds. “Mommy, look—this one's faster!" He pushed a racing car molded from cured resin.
She smiled, voice calm despite adrenaline thrumming in her veins. “Nice—just like our design timeline. Precision matters."
He grinned, then scampered to the kitchenette to load his action figure with granola.
Wantang swiped the sweat from her brow and opened her tablet. A string of emails awaited: patterns from the Expo team, VIP inquiries, and one unread text message from an unknown number:
> **“Designs or son—choose."**
Her heart stuttered. She tapped it; the message disappeared, leaving no trace—no number, no timestamp.
She exhaled, pressing her palm to her temple. “Not today," she whispered, then tapped a screenshot command. The notification popped: **“Screenshot saved to secure vault."**
She forwarded the image to her legal counsel with a single instruction: **“Log as corporate harassment. Do not reply."**
Then she returned to her workbench, attaching the new polymer to a prototype pendant. Every bead and clasp had to be flawless for the Expo's VIP preview. If Siheng's people were monitoring her, she couldn't afford a misstep.
---
Later that afternoon, Siheng convened a private inspection in the Sponsor Lounge. The room was furnished in white marble and obsidian accents, a stark contrast to the Expo's chaotic energy. He circled each display case with Wen Tao at his side: the garnet tiara, the molten‑silver cuffs, the Ember Phoenix Earrings.
He paused at the prototype for the **Solar Flare Bracelet**—a band of spun‑gold filigree encasing a series of lab‑grown sapphires that flared like a sunburst under UV light. He tapped the glass. “This mechanism—where's the patent?" he asked quietly.
“Pending, sir," Wen replied. “Draft filed last week in Hong Kong, fast‑track status."
Siheng's lips curved. “Interesting." He scanned the lab‑grown tag. “I want to know why she's using proprietary processes that were once exclusive to our partners."
Wen opened a digital dossier. “Could be reverse‑engineered. Or she bought the rights from a defunct startup."
Siheng's expression darkened. “Find out. And discreetly—no journalists, no gossip columns."
---
Back at the studio, the overhead lights flickered as dusk settled over the river. Wantang swept Jasper into her arms. “Time to go, love."
He snuggled into her shoulder, yawning. “Tell me a story."
She carried him to the makeshift reading nook—a plush chair beside the CAD station. As Jasper drifted off to her whispered tale of phoenixes and fire, Wantang checked her notifications. A secure channel from her embassy liaison: **“Appointment confirmed—tonight at 8PM, Embassy Annex, Room 4B."**
She exhaled. Two missions, one evening: citizenship registration and damage control after the rehearsal glitch.
She texted her assistant, Mei: **“Library space reserved. Embassy meet 8PM. Be ready with docs."**
---
At 7:15 PM, Wen Tao's latest briefing pinged Siheng's secure terminal:
> **“Lin Wantang left Country B six years ago, pregnant. No paternal data recorded. Citizenship under alias 'Quinn.'"**
Siheng's breath hitched. He tapped the screen, expanding the timeline: her departure date, flight logs, visa expiration. **No record** of her ever marrying or declaring a father for her child.
He leaned back, mind racing. Her entire existence—carefully curated, legally sanctioned—had slipped through Qi Group's compliance nets. And now she was here, threatening to rewrite the narrative of his family's empire.
He closed his eyes. The chill he'd always felt around her—years ago, that primal contempt—was morphing into something colder, sharper: obsessive curiosity.
---
That night, after a storm‑threatening sky had emptied its rains onto the city, Wantang settled Jasper into the embassy annex's quiet chamber. A consular officer stamped his paperwork; official seal upon official seal. She watched every move, wary of whispers, hidden cameras, corporate moles.
As she left at 8:45 PM, a man in a gray suit slipped a sealed envelope under the door: no name, no return address. She paused in the hallway and picked it up.
Inside, a single line was typed on creamy stationery:
> **“Tomorrow, bring both."**
She clipped the envelope to her tablet and slipped it into her tote. Heart hammering, she hailed a cab, swiping away rain droplets from the window as the city lights smeared past.
---
Back in his penthouse, Qi Siheng stared at the same envelope on his desk—delivered minutes after her embassy exit. He'd ordered it retrieved from her hands by his team.
He cracked it open. The note inside was identical:
> **“Tomorrow, bring both."**
His finger traced the words. **“Bring both"—designs and son.**
He closed his fist around the paper. A slow smile curved his lips—not of triumph, but of something darker, urgent.
He tapped his intercom. “Arrange a meeting with Ms. Wantang tomorrow morning. Office, 9AM. Private."
As the rain pounded against the windows, a new rule settled in his chest: he would not let her slip away again. Not without answers.
And in the darkness beyond the glass, shadows shifted—and the first moves of a far more dangerous game were set in motion.
- Writer
