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墨書 Inktalez
With a ping, I received an anonymous email. It contained the transfer data for the donation made by Fang Li that I had asked my hacker friend to analyze last night.
"I found some information. The fifty million was transferred in two installments. The first was one million, and the second was forty-nine million. The time gap between them..."
My fingers trembled slightly. "How long?"
"Seven minutes. Specifically, from 23:07 to 23:14. Reporter Li, do you know what this means?"
Of course, I knew. As a data journalist with a background in programming, I understood all too well—this was a typical time difference indicative of automated execution.
"Also, you should take a look at this..." The email included a screenshot. It was Fang Li's last post on social media before his death. The image showed him with Chen Ci, tagged at the Benevolent Heart, Saving the World Foundation. The post was made at 23:00.
"For a better tomorrow," his caption read.
Seven minutes later, the first transfer began.
I closed all files and stood by the window. These unusual data points connected in my mind:
- Fang Li's suspicious fifty million donation
- The seven-minute time gap between the two transfers
- His last social media post at 23:00
- The Foundation's pattern of large donations occurring every 40 to 50 hours
- Twelve previous similar cases
As a journalist focused on data investigation, I was well aware of the characteristics of automated operations. That seven-minute time gap was almost a standard duration for an automated program to run. And was the AI prediction system that Benevolent Heart, Saving the World took pride in really just used for predicting beneficiaries?
But what unsettled me even more was the time pattern of the Foundation—why was there such an astonishing similarity between large donations and unexpected events? What exactly was this so-called charitable Foundation's AI System predicting?
The night was deep, and I was alone in the office. Staring at the photo of Fang Li on the screen, I suddenly recalled his smile when he publicly announced his donation a few days ago. It was so bright, so open, just like... like the last time my father stood at the Press Office door waiting for me to finish work.
"Mr. Li," my voice tightened, "give me three days. This time it's not just for a report, but for all those like my father who left without having the chance to reveal the truth."
Pushing open the glass doors of the Foundation building, blinding sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The receptionist flashed a standard smile, and the walls were adorned with gleaming certificates of honor. It was too perfect, too unreal.
I instinctively touched the recorder hanging around my neck. It was the last birthday gift my father had given me, specially modified. "Remember, Xiao Zhang, the truth often hides behind the brightest light." Looking back now, did he foresee something?
"Reporter Li, Ms. Chen has kept you waiting," a polite voice from an assistant snapped me back to reality. As I entered the meeting room, I noticed the walls were covered with award certificates and letters of appreciation. If I hadn’t experienced loss myself, I might have truly believed in these glamorous facades.
Though it was said that I had been kept waiting, it had taken less than a day from when I submitted my interview request to receiving approval. This speed made me uneasy—it felt too unusual. Logically speaking, a founder of a charitable Foundation shouldn’t be so invested in data-related news.
"Sorry to keep you waiting." Chen Ci entered, dressed in a well-fitted beige suit. In person, she appeared even gentler than in photos. "I hear you're very interested in our AI prediction system?"
I nodded and turned on my recorder. "Yes. The efficiency of your Foundation's assistance is impressive. May I ask how this system operates?"
"Of course," she smiled. "Would you like to tour our data center?"
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