Chapter 13: The Voice from the Past
The archaic school intercom system hissed softly before a smooth, cultured, and terrifyingly familiar voice echoed across the empty, glass-strewn lobby. It wasn't Principal Alvarez, nor was it Coach Henderson or Robert Lin. It was a voice Maya hadn't heard since the night her father’s office in Chicago was burned to the ground.
"Well done, Maya," the disembodied voice resonated through the speakers, dripping with patronizing amusement. "You cut off a few tentacles, but the beast has many more heads."
Sarah dropped her digital recorder in sheer shock, her hands flying to her mouth. "Whose voice is that? Who is still controlling the system?"
Maya didn't answer. She stood completely still, her fingers gripping the strap of her zip-up hoodie so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her mind raced back to the night of the fire, remembering the muffled phone call her father received just minutes before the flames engulfed his desk.
"Director Vance?" Sarah guessed frantically, looking around the dark hallways. "No, Vance is locked in the office. Is it someone on the school board?"
"It's someone much higher than the school board," Maya said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "It's the chairman of the state municipal oversight committee. The man who appointed every corrupt administrator in this district."
The intercom clicked again, and the smooth voice returned, echoing through the cavernous high school walls. "You thought you were the hunter, little girl. But you walked right into a maze designed to test your father's legacy. And now, you have one final choice to make."
"What choice?" Maya called out, stepping closer to the main office speaker grill, her eyes burning with intense focus.
"Look at your phone, Maya," the voice instructed calmly.
Maya slowly pulled her smartphone out of her pocket. The screen flashed once, displaying an incoming video call from an unknown, encrypted number. Without hesitation, she swiped to accept the call and hit speaker mode.
The screen flickered, revealing a live video feed of a dimly lit private hangar. Tied securely to a heavy metal chair in the center of the room, gagged and bound, sat a man with graying hair and tired eyes.
Sarah gasped loudly, grabbing Maya's arm in sheer horror. "Oh my god... is that—"
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"Dad," Maya whispered, her breath hitching in her throat as her stoic facade finally shattered, revealing a well of deep, agonizing pain.
The voice on the intercom chuckled darkly. "He didn't die in the Chicago fire, Maya. We saved him a seat for your grand finale. You have twenty minutes to reach the coordinates displayed on your screen. Come alone, or watch your father burn for real this time."
