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墨書 Inktalez
As the morning mist condensed into droplets on the glass curtain wall of the office building, I loosened my tie and turned into the tea room on the twenty-third floor. Wang Mingyuan was staring blankly at the coffee machine, the third button of his white shirt misaligned by fifteen degrees compared to usual.
"Good morning, President Wang." I deliberately amplified the sound of tearing open a packet of instant coffee threefold. The grinder suddenly roared to life, and coffee splattered from his trembling hands, staining the document cover that concealed the last stroke of the character "Zhang."
The projector cast a cold blue light across the conference table. The moment Zhang Zhiqiang flung out the report, I caught a whiff of cigar smoke lingering on his cuff—just like the exclusive scent from last night’s stay in the Kempinski presidential suite. "A year-on-year decline of 37%!" His corpulent figure loomed over Wang Mingyuan, "Last quarter’s marketing expenses exceeded by twenty million; does Manager Wang plan to sell properties to cover the gap?"
The Chief Financial Officer's phone vibrated silently. I focused on the reflection on the screen revealing an overseas account number's last digits. Just as Wang Mingyuan adjusted the microphone to speak, Zhang Zhiqiang's assistant unexpectedly projected a new slide—photos of Lin Xueyao in a backless dress toasting appeared in the scanned travel expense reimbursement documents.
"Allow me to interject." I raised a paper cutter and sliced open the file bag; an A4 sheet fell onto the table like a shroud. "In the southwest distribution network overseen by Supervisor Zhang, fourteen agents renewed contracts last month using the same qualification documents?" The air conditioning vent stirred the pages, revealing three business licenses with different seals but identical codes.
Zhang Zhiqiang's gold-rimmed glasses slipped down to his nose: "Interns don’t understand what channel penetration means..."
"Of course not as well as you do." I pressed the laser pointer, switching the projection to customs declaration forms. "Rubber materials imported from Thailand were stored in a bonded warehouse for three days; how did they become domestic purchases?" Gasps filled the room as I played a recording sent by Li Ming last night: "...make two sets of accounts, transfer the price difference to my Swiss account..."
Just then, the chairman's exclusive ringtone erupted. I switched to speakerphone; Shen Cang Hai's cough mingled with the crisp sound of Go pieces being placed: "Mingyuan, last time you mentioned restructuring marketing; I think that's quite bold." A screeching sound echoed from fifteen floors below as three black sedans with white-lettered plates flashed past—each belonging to the discipline inspection system.
Wang Mingyuan suddenly unbuttoned his suit jacket, and light from the projector ignited two fiery spots in his pupils: "This is the newly drafted channel optimization plan!" The USB drive he hurled knocked over Zhang Zhiqiang's thermos, goji berries bleeding onto confidential documents. "Cut out middlemen for direct supply to terminals; we expect a nine percentage point increase in net profit!"
I leaned back to avoid splashing tea and saw Lin Xueyao leaning against the conference room glass wall touching up her makeup. Her lipstick traced over her pale lips, creating a distorted worm-like pattern in the surveillance camera's view.
"Youth is formidable... truly formidable..." As Zhang Zhiqiang dabbed at his sweat with a handkerchief, I caught sight of half a wax seal from a whistleblower letter peeking out from his inner pocket. Just then, Wang Mingyuan's assistant brought in a market analysis report half my height; the sticky note on its cover bore my annotations written with my left hand at four in the morning.
As we wrapped up the meeting, I intentionally lingered until last, my fingertips brushing over leather chair backs scratched by Zhang Zhiqiang’s nails. A heavy thud echoed from the fire escape, mixed with his furious roar: "How could that kid know about Penang's warehouse..."
The elevator's mirrored surface reflected my image as I unbuttoned the second button of my shirt, the tiny camera on my tie clip still blinking a red light. Suddenly, my phone vibrated, and an encrypted message from Li Ming popped up: “Lin Xueyao is using your coffee cup for DNA sampling.”
I stepped into the restroom and pressed the flush valve, chuckling softly amidst the roaring sound. The condensation on the mirror glided across my face, reminiscent of the trace my mother left on the ICU glass during her final moments.
The fluorescent lights flickered suddenly, casting a bloody shadow from the emergency exit sign onto the floor. As I reached for the recorder hidden behind the sensor, I heard the sound of fabric rubbing against itself from the ventilation duct—someone was aiming a telephoto lens at the birthmark on the back of my neck.
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