“We found something in the room’s vent,” Grace said. “A hard-drive with video recordings of what appears to be rituals. There are several members, including the victims, on the recordings. Edward Grant was there along with an unidentified person wearing a mask.”
She had brought her laptop, plugged the hard-drive in and found the recordings. Before them the rituals were always the same, chanting, drinking out of an elaborate challis. A tall figure, dressed in a cloak and mask, raised their hands and began the chant. They were at the head of the table, the one in charge. With each recording, it featured specific individuals, and Cassandra was off to the side, handing them items from a side table – a sprig of sage, a dagger, and a long stick decorated with bells. They placed each in a specific order on the table in front of them.
As the video’s played in succession, one appeared not like the other’s, there was no ritual. They could hear a female voice threatening to reveal everything. She was done fooling everyone and not getting a bigger portion of money. A demanding male voice, hidden in the darkness of the hallway at first, tried to reason with her, and offered more money. “Just keep quiet,” it said, “and, of course, you can have more money. We have a good deal going on, don’t ruin it.” When the face of the man appeared, Grace smiled smugly, Jim nodded, and Colin’s mouth dropped.
“I knew it,” Jim quipped.
“There is something else,” Grace said, “we found a special late-night pass when we think the reporter was killed. And guess who’s name is on it?”
“The same man in the video?” Colin asked, his head tilted slightly, a faint smile on the corners of his mouth.
“Absolutely,” Grace said.
“So have you connected all the dots?” Colin asked, looking at Jim who was lost in thought.
“Yes, I do believe I did,” he replied, a sigh of satisfaction escaping his mouth. “Gather the three suspects into the conference room, together. Let’s finish this.”
The conference room was quiet, the kind of silence that made every breath feel loud.
The three suspects, Lila, Victor, and Edward, waited, seated around a long table, each in their own uneasy orbit. Edward tapped a finger restlessly against the wood. Victor stared fixedly at the door, his jaw still clenched. Livia avoided any eye contact with anyone, arms folded and gaze anchored to a smudge on the floor.
A pile of folders sat at the other end, waiting for the detectives. They were closed, untouched, but heavy with implication. The presence of the detective still loomed in their absence.
The door opened with a quiet click, the room seemed to contract.
Jim came through first, composed and ready to expose someone’s secret. His eyes swept the room like a searchlight, assessing, nothing, and cataloging the people gathered and waiting.
Colin followed close behind, his gaze cold and calculating.
The detectives didn’t speak to them right away. They didn’t have to. The scrape of chairs and the shifting of guilty bodies said enough. Jim sat down at the table with deliberate care, pulling the files closer to him. Colin remained standing, arms crossed, weight balanced like a coiled spring.
A hush descended again – now the silence was controlled and heavy, it belonged to the detectives.
The chair groaned as Jim leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His expression was unreadable – calm, but with an edge, like a storm just beneath the surface. He let it stretch out a moment longer, letting it press on the three in front of them, who squirmed under its weight.
He began with flipping a folder open. “One of you is a serial murder.” The announcement crashed on top of them.
“We know all about the fraud and the risk of exposure of the secret societies lies.” He let it linger in the air between them. “We know about your blackmail, Victor, and found yourself in something much darker.” Victor looked at him beneath a dark cloud. “We know, Lila, that you were unaware of the true danger that lurked behind the scenes.” Lila gave out a small cry. “And we know that you needed to silence the victims threatening to expose the truth of the secret society’s fraud.” He looked at each one of them, his eyes sharp, every piece sliding into place in front of them. He turned and focused his gaze on the real guilty person – Edward Grant.
“We have it all in front of us, Edward,” Jim said, staring at Edward’s blank face. “The hidden footage, financial records showing your embezzlement of funds, and your secret pass, all indicating you were around at the time of each murder. And the bell…it came off your lapel pin. I noticed yours didn’t make a sound like the others. It was suspiciously missing the first day we spoke to you.”
Edward sneered at him. He stared down at the evidence spread before him – photographs, financial records, and the access card that sealed his fate. His breath had gone shallow, chest rising and falling with uneven rhythm. For a moment , he didn’t speak. He stared at the folder a moment too long. His eyes flicked up to Jim, then to Colin, then back down. His jaw clenched. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, standing suddenly, his chair falling backward.
“Sit down, Edward,” Jim warned, calm but firm.
He shoved the chair aside and bolted for the door, evading officers. His footsteps pounded down the carpeted corridor, past vendor booths and darkened side rooms, his shoulder slamming into the “Welcome to the Convention” sign as it toppled behind him.
“Stop!” Jim barked, and Colin was on Edwards heels.
Edward had an advantage, he knew the layout of every nook and cranny of the convention center. He pushed through the side doors leading to the loading dock, breath ragged, panic rising like a flood. He sprinted across the empty service hall, dropping things behind him, causing Colin to slowly dodge rolling trays and signage.
Colin finally tackled Edward from behind, bringing them both down hard against the concrete floor. It knocked the breath out of Edward as he struggled, arms flailing, but Jim was there a second later, cuffing his wrists before he could get to his feet again. Another officer took Edward by the elbow. Edwards’ eyes were filled with rage. The game was over. And he lost.
“Okay, I admit that I threatened them all. They threatened to ruin everything, but it wasn’t me. It was someone much higher up.”
Edward stood pale and silent, his hands already cuffed behind his back. His suit – so crisp and confident just hours ago – now hung wrinkled and damp with sweat. Jim stood next to him, reading the charges aloud with clear, steady authority.
“Edward Grant, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent…”
Edward didn’t argue. He stared straight ahead with empty eyes.
Across the hall, Victor tried to retreat into the chaos, but Collin was already waiting and ready to cut him off.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the detective said, grabbing Victor’s arm.
Victor sputtered in disbelief. “This is a mistake — I didn’t kill anyone!”
“No,” Colin replied, tightening the cuffs, “but you know enough to keep quiet — and you made sure others did too. Victor Hayes,” he continued, “you are under arrest for blackmail and obstruction of a criminal investigation.”
Victor looked around for help – none came. Just stares from officers and silence.
As the two men were led away in opposite directions, the convention, empty stalls standing resolute, remained frozen in a strange stillness.
Lila stood near the entrance to the large hall. Her hand trembled slightly at her sides, the shock of everything still raw, still echoing through her bones. But beneath the shake was something solid – growing stronger with every breath. The truth had unraveled quickly: lives were lost, blackmail, and betrayal. Everything she thought she understood had cracked wide open. And yet, in the center of it all, a strange clarity had begun to take shape.
Behind her, quiet footsteps approached. Lila didn’t turn, but she felt the presence before she heard his voice.
“What are your plans now?” Colin asked her.
Lila looked over her shoulder. “I am going to continue learning and try to eliminate unethical readings and fraud.”
He nodded, “Good for you.”
She drew in a breath, steadier now, and finally faced him. “I believe in the work,” she said. “Not the smoke and mirrors. Not the cold readings and planted questions. But the real part – helping people who are grieving, who are lost. There are too many people like Edward and the rest who prey on the desperate. And too many like my mentor, who forgot the difference between belief and manipulation”
Her chin lifted.
Colin gave a slow thoughtful nod. “Then maybe you’re exactly the kind of medium people actually need.”
The End.
