Chapter 10 - The Mirror Room
The kitchen corridor was deathly quiet.
The air smelled strongly of pine disinfectant and fried sesame oil, but beneath it lay that unmistakable, heavy stillness of an empty soundstage after the cameras stop rolling.
Sarah moved down the hallway, her weapon raised to a low-ready position. She checked every corner, every alcove, her eyes scanning for motion, infrared camera lenses, or hidden tripwires.
She reached the door leading to the hidden dining room—the room with the white-draped table she had seen in the video.
She pushed the door open.
The room was bathed in the same tungsten light. In the center of the room sat the round table. The plate of beef noodles was still there, half-eaten, cold grease congealing on the white porcelain.
Beside the plate lay Eleanor’s dirty grey hoodie, neatly folded on the mahogany chair like a suit left behind by a guest who had checked out.
"Mom?" Sarah whispered, her voice cracking in the empty room.
"She can't hear you, Detective," a voice said from behind her.
Sarah pivoted instantly, swinging her weapon toward the dark corner of the room.
David Sun stood in the shadow of the velvet curtains. He wasn't reaching for a weapon; his hands were raised calmly at chest height, palms open, his expression one of polite, professional interest.
"Drop your weapon, Detective Vance," David said smoothly. "Or rather, don't drop it. If you fire that weapon, the discharge will trigger an acoustic sensor that immediately wipes the local hard drives in the basement. You will never find your mother’s body."
Sarah’s sight picture was locked onto David’s chest, her finger resting lightly against the trigger blade.
"Where is she?" Sarah demanded, her voice cold as ice, though her hands trembled slightly with pure, unadulterated rage. "Where is Eleanor Vance?"
"She is in the prep room," David said truthfully, his voice soothing, melodic. "She is sleeping peacefully. She feels no pain, Sarah. She hasn't felt this calm in years."
"You drugged her," Sarah hissed, taking a slow step forward, keeping her sights centered on his sternum. "You staged those videos. You've been kidnapping vulnerable people off the streets."
"Kidnapping?" David echoed, raising a eyebrow with genuine amusement. "We gave them a warm meal, Sarah. We gave them a clean seat at a nice table. We gave them millions of people who looked at them and felt sorrow, compassion, and love. Do you know what the city gave them before we found them? Nothing. They stepped over them on their way to buy five-dollar coffees."
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"You commodified them!" Sarah shouted, her voice echoing off the padded walls.
"We monetized what was already wasted," David corrected softly. "Your mother was dying in that alley tonight. Her core temperature was ninety-four degrees when Arthur brought her inside. If we hadn't taken her, she would have been a frozen corpse by six in the morning, buried in a potter's field with a nameless toe-tag. Instead, her face raised three hundred thousand dollars for healthcare research tonight. Who is the real monster here, Detective?"
