Chapter 3

A sudden flurry of footsteps sounded from downstairs.

The students crowding the stairwell were pushed aside as a man in his 30s strode up the stairs. He wore a white dress shirt, black trousers, and gold-rimmed glasses, with a briefcase in hand.

He glanced at the closed door of Room 617, then surveyed the police officers in the hallway.

"Who's in charge here?"

Officer Martel stepped forward. "Who are you?"

"My name is Kevin Quigley. I'm Anna's cousin and her attorney."

He showed us his identification, then pulled up a digital letter of authorization on his phone.

"Anna contacted me a little while ago. She told me that she and her three roommates had been locked inside their dorm room by the supervisor for no reason. Now there are police cars downstairs, and people are livestreaming everything upstairs. They're terrified."

He looked Officer Martel in the eye.

"I'd like to know what crime these young women are suspected of committing."

Officer Martel glanced at his credentials. "No one's accused them of committing a crime."

"Then why are you restricting their freedom to leave?" Kevin asked, adjusting his glasses. "There hasn't been a fire or a gas leak. There are no prohibited appliances in the room. All four students are conscious, speaking normally, and able to send messages on their phones."

He paused.

"And you're locking down an entire building because a dorm supervisor thinks a few creases in a bedsheet look strange?"

He didn't speak fast, yet every sentence made me feel as though I was being backed further into a corner.

The students watching immediately began chiming in.

"Exactly! It's just a few wrinkles!"

"I can't believe she's calling the police over something like this."

"Has Ms. Chapman been watching too many crime shows?"

Kevin took out his phone and turned the camera toward himself, with Room 617 behind him. He was livestreaming the whole thing, and the number of viewers had already surpassed 20,000.

The title was simple.

"College Girls Locked in Dorm by Supervisor. Police Arrive, but She Refuses to Let Them Out."

"I'm not trying to stir up controversy," he said before turning the camera directly toward me. "But the public has a right to know why four students who've committed no crime are being deprived of their freedom."

Comments flooded the screen in an instant.

"Open the door!"

"The dorm supervisor needs to apologize!"

"Isn't this an abuse of authority?"

Some viewers even dug up my name and Jameston University's phone number.

Mr. Levinsky's phone wouldn't stop ringing. Calls came in one after another from the communications office, facilities department, and university president's office.

By the time he finished the last call, his face had darkened with anger.

"Laura, the university administration has given instructions," he ground out. "There's no clear evidence of danger, so lift the lockdown immediately. We'll deal with the consequences of this mess and decide how to hold you accountable afterward."

As if she heard him, the young woman behind the door began crying even harder.

"Kevin, I can't breathe… They won't let us out."

Kevin immediately turned toward the officers.

"You all heard that. My client may be hyperventilating from fear," he said sternly. "If you keep that door locked and one of these students suffers a medical emergency, who's going to take responsibility?"

One of the paramedics leaned toward the door and asked several questions.

The students inside answered every one of them, including their names, classes, student ID numbers, and even their academic advisors' phone numbers. They recited everything without hesitation.

The technical team had also completed its initial assessment. There were no hazardous gases inside the room, and the electrical system was functioning normally. The doors and windows showed no signs of tampering. Thermal imaging also confirmed four human-shaped heat signatures inside.

Every result came back normal—so normal there wasn't a single thing out of place.

Officer Martel turned to me.

"Ms. Chapman, we currently have no evidence that anyone inside is in danger. We can open the door, bring the students out, and question them separately."

Mr. Levinsky was already holding out his hand.

"Give me the keys."

Dozens of phone cameras were pointed straight at me, while the woman behind the door continued to sob.

Kevin stood nearby, perfectly composed, with a faint smile that suggested he already knew how this would end.

All I had to do was hand over the keys. Once the door opened, this whole mess could be over.

The university could stop taking heat from the public, the students could finally leave the hallway, and I might still be able to keep my job.

I stared at the keys in my palm, my hand slick with cold sweat.

Had I really been wrong?

There were exactly four heat signatures that belonged to four students. The doors and windows were intact, and the students inside could recite every detail of their identities.

What else was there to investigate?

But just as Mr. Levinsky was about to take the keys from me, something suddenly occurred to me.

Kevin had said he'd rushed over after receiving Anna's call, yet less than 20 minutes had passed since I'd triggered the alarm.

Anna's family lived nearly 1,200 miles away. She'd stayed on campus because her family couldn't afford a round-trip plane ticket for the holiday.

So why was a cousin I'd never seen on campus suddenly waiting nearby tonight? And how had Kevin known I'd called the police because of the creases in a bedsheet?

I'd never told anyone about that.

My fingers tightened around the keys, and Kevin's smile faded.

"Ms. Chapman, how much longer are you going to drag this out?"

I ignored him and turned to Officer Martel instead.

"I want to request the highest level of forensic investigation," I said, enunciating every word.

The hallway fell silent.

Mr. Levinsky stared at me in disbelief.

"Have you lost your mind?" he barked.

"Treat this as a suspected abduction," I continued. "Get the major crimes unit, forensic investigators, and technical specialists here.

"Verify which devices sent the messages from inside the room. Run voice comparisons on the recordings from behind the door, and reconstruct the heat signatures inside the room."

I looked at Officer Martel.

"If it turns out my judgment was wrong, I'll accept the disciplinary action, pay the damages, and lose my job. I'll take full responsibility."