New York, Nox Capital Headquarters, 88th Floor, Next Morning, 9:03 AM
Ava Chen stared at the three monitors before her, a familiar anxiety churning in her stomach. Working for Kyle Night for five years, the first thing she learned was: the boss's demands always defied reason, but you must fulfill them.
The second thing: never ask why.
Now, on the third screen, live feeds from the NYC Department of Transportation surveillance system flickered. This was, of course, illegal—or rather, unauthorized. But Nox Capital held the city's largest public safety software contract, and Ava knew the backdoor passwords.
"Lily Thorne..." she murmured, fingers flying across the keyboard.
The first breakthrough was the hospital billing records. St. Vincent's system had seven layers of firewalls, but to Ava, they were just seven spiderwebs. It took her 23 minutes to locate all transaction records from yesterday afternoon, filtering for personal payments between 5:00-6:00 PM.
One transaction jumped out: $1,850.00, debit card payment, cardholder—Lily A. Thorne.
"Thorne, not Soan." Ava corrected herself. Different spelling, same pronunciation. A common error.
She cross-referenced bank records. Account balance before payment: $2,037.86, after: $187.86. Bank: Chase, Brooklyn branch. Average balance over the last three months: under $1,200.
"So you're not wealthy." Ava whispered, feeling an inexplicable pang in her heart.
Second breakthrough: facial recognition. She pulled footage from 16 surveillance cameras around the hospital from 5:15-5:45 PM yesterday, running Nox's internally developed facial tracking algorithm—designed to track international financial criminals, now used to find an ordinary girl.
Fifth minute, the system chimed.
The footage captured a young woman with brown hair running out of the ER entrance, soaked, dark suit clinging to her body. She glanced at her phone, a clear look of anxiety flashing across her face, then dashed towards the subway station.
Image enhancement, resolution boosted. Ava held her breath.
The girl had a memorable face—not stunning in a traditional sense, but a vivid beauty. Wet hair plastered to her forehead, eyes large and bright; even in the grainy footage, you could see a certain light in them. She clutched a worn backpack like a lifeline.
"Lily Thorne." Ava said softly.
For the next six hours, she became a hunter in the digital world. She tracked Lily's metro card usage (entered at Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn, exited in Lower Manhattan), searched for her possible workplaces (37 nearby galleries, cafes, retail stores), even breached NYU's student database—found her: Lily Thorne, double major in Art History and Computer Science, expected graduation June this year, current status: part-time student.
She also found something else.
Three weeks ago, Lily's search history on job sites: "emergency loans," "financial aid for students from bankrupt families," "jobs with 24-hour pay."
One month ago, her credit card declined records.
Two months ago, she changed her address from Upper East Side to an address in Bushwick, Brooklyn—online reviews for that building read "heat works sometimes, cockroaches are extra roommates."
Ava leaned back in her chair, feeling a wave of fatigue. This girl was sinking, yet she had stopped for a stranger in a rainstorm.
She compiled all the information and sent it to Kyle's encrypted email. At the end of the email, she added a personal note she usually wouldn't:
"Mr. Night, based on available data, Ms. Thorne is in severe financial distress. The medical fee she paid yesterday constitutes over 80% of her monthly income. If you wish to express gratitude, direct financial assistance might be the most practical help."
Send. Then wait.
The reply came 47 seconds later, brief as usual:
"Do not intervene. Continue observation. Daily reports."
Ava sighed. Sometimes she felt her boss wasn't human—not metaphorically, but literally. That absolute calm, that nearly ruthless efficiency, that sense of distance from others' suffering...
Her phone vibrated, a mortgage reminder. Payment $3,200, due the day after tomorrow.
She closed the surveillance feeds and returned to her normal work. At Nox Capital, everyone had their own sinking to face.