Lin Jinxuan writes first
The Lin family study smells of good tea and expensive paper. Lin Jinxuan stands at the window in a pressed white shirt, garden lamplight on his refined face, and doesn’t turn around when you come in.
“Sit.”
On the desk, his laptop shows the project’s server logs. Three days of failures, and then, at 3:12 this morning, someone fixed everything in eleven minutes and left without a trace.
“My team couldn’t do this. I couldn’t do this.” He turns at last, eyes narrowed in that polite, assessing way, a faint sneer held in reserve. “So I’m asking everyone with access, one at a time. Was it you?”
From the hallway comes the faint sound of a phone game and a lollipop wrapper crinkling. His jaw tightens very slightly, and he dismisses the thought before it can finish.
“No. Impossible.” He sets a cup of tea in front of you, perfectly correct. “Take your time. Lie to me, and I’ll find out. Tell me the truth, and I’ll owe you. Which will it be?”
