Missing Child Case: I Put My Neighborhood on Trial

Three minutes ago, the residents' group chat was still full of polite concern.

"@801SophiaW, have you found Zeke yet? We're all really worried."

"Just say the word if you need help, Sophia. We'll even raise funds for you."

"Has management checked the surveillance? What did the cops say?"

I leaned against the cold wall, staring at those caring messages on my phone.

My son, Zeke Murphy, had been missing for 72 hours. Three days—the golden window for rescue was slipping away second by second.

According to the police, the cameras showed Zeke for the last time in the first-floor lobby. He waved, as if greeting someone he knew, then skipped happily into the elevator of Block B.

Our building, Grand Summit Residence, was one of the most upscale residential complexes in the city. Security was tight, and one needed facial recognition just to get in or out.

The police checked every visitor record and found nothing, which meant the person who took Zeke had been one of the residents. They went door to door asking questions. Everyone said they hadn't seen him.

The officer had tried to calm me down. "Don't be too worried. We'll expand the search."

Expand the search? My son was right inside this cage of steel and concrete!

I took a deep breath, typed the final line of code into my computer, and hit enter. At once, a low hum spread through the entire building.

Every elevator froze. Every electronic lock snapped shut. The central air stopped running. The network signal was cut off at the physical layer, leaving only a single local network I had built.

The residents' group chat exploded.

"What the hell? Why's the power out?"

"It's not a blackout. All the smart systems are out of control!'

"My door won't open! What the hell is management doing?"

I calmly sent my first message to the group. Peace lasted for a single second before the panic and curses poured in like a flood breaking through a dam.

Mr. Cooper from Unit 1502, a vulgarian who made his money in internet finance, was the first to lash out. "Are you insane? This is illegal detention! I'm calling the police right now!"

I sent out the screenshot I had prepared long ago. It showed his company's internal transaction records. A massive sum of money had been funneled through more than a dozen shell companies before ending up in an offshore tax haven.

I wrote, "Mr. Cooper, feel free to call the police. When they get here, however, they might want to have a chat with you about fraud and tax evasion. The amount involved looks like it's enough for a life sentence."

Mr. Cooper went quiet instantly. The group became silent.

I looked at Zeke's photo on the wall. He was smiling, two little canine teeth peeking out. I said softly to the empty room, "58 minutes left… Mommy will find you, Zeke."