Live at the Old Warehouse

Three months and seven days after Yale Lincoln's death, I locked up the four people connected to it in an old warehouse on the outskirts of town. They say my brother killed himself, but he had OCD—he even sorted his socks by color to wash them. How could he just jump headfirst into a sewage manhole? My parents took the school's 300,000 yuan 'humanitarian compensation' and went on a trip less than two weeks later. They posted pictures of coconut trees and seafood on social media, never once mentioning Yale's name. The first time I went to the police station to report it, the officer who took me frowned while I spoke, then sighed at the end. He said, 'Little girl, once someone's dead, they're not coming back. Your parents already signed off on it, so stop obsessing over it.' After that, I went there three more times, and each time the security guards forced me out. The last time, they even brought in a doctor in a white coat who said I had manic tendencies and told me to take my meds on schedule. I didn't take them. I set up four cameras in the old warehouse, each aimed at a different room. The people in those rooms were Eric Clark, grandson of Principal Harry Clark; Shirley Scott, the school nurse's daughter; Michael Carter, Yale Lincoln's roommate; and Leo Wood, who grew up with him. I opened the live stream app, logging into a newly registered account called 'The Truth Seeker.' The camera pointed at the display screen in the center of the warehouse, where four feeds lit up at once, and the on-screen comments exploded instantly. [Is this a kidnapping? The streamer must be crazy!] [I know Eric Clark; he's the student council president at No.1 Middle School, top of his class!] [Yale Lincoln? Isn't he the guy who was rumored to have killed himself recently? I heard he stole from classmates and bullied people.] I stared at those comments, my fingers clenched so tight they went white. Yale Lincoln would never steal; he even picks up a single yuan I drop and hands it back to me. When the live stream hit over ten thousand viewers, Harry Clark joined the room. He was wearing a suit, his hair perfectly combed, and said into the camera, "Viola Lincoln, release Eric Clark immediately. I won't pursue any charges against you, and you can keep your job." I laughed. I'm an engineer at the Municipal Design Institute. I just finished leading the elevated highway project in city east last year. How could I be afraid of losing my job? I ignored him and reached out to press the switch in Eric's room. In the corner of that room, there was a water tank, water flowing through the pipes into it. Eric was tied to a chair right in the middle of the tank, and his face instantly changed. "Grandma! Grandpa, save me!" His voice came through the microphone, choked with tears. Harry Clark's face darkened as private messages kept flooding in, all asking how much money I wanted. I said into the microphone, "I don't want money, I just want the truth." "Why did Yale Lincoln end up dead in that sewage manhole? Who's going to tell me?" The on-screen comments went wild. [So the streamer's doing this for his brother? But wasn't Yale Lincoln's case already closed?] [Principal Clark's family is so rich, this streamer's obviously just trying to scam money!] [I'm Yale Lincoln's classmate. Honestly, he was pretty isolated most of the time. Maybe he really couldn't handle it.] I remember the last message Yale sent me before he died. He said, 'Sister, I've uncovered a secret. They're coming after me.' I was on a business trip out of town, so I just replied, 'Don't overthink it. Call me if anything happens.' I never expected that to be our last conversation. I pressed another button, and a basket of ice cubes dropped from above the tank, splashing water everywhere. Eric Clark's teeth started chattering. "Ah! So cold! I know I was wrong!" he shouted, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. Suddenly, a woman in a cheongsam showed up beside Harry Clark—it must be Eric Clark's grandmother. She knelt down in front of the camera, crying, and said, "Viola, please, let my grandson go. I'll kowtow to you if that's what it takes."