Rain slapped against the black umbrellas at my sister's funeral. The police called it a *"random robbery."* But I'd seen the crime scene photos—seventeen precise stab wounds. Professional.
Maya stood beside me, her Chanel dress pristine, her sobs a little too loud. When she gripped my arm, her nails bit into my skin like claws. *"We'll find who did this,"* she whispered.
That night, I broke into my sister's apartment. The desk drawer had a false bottom—just like when we were kids hiding candy from our parents. Inside: a single USB drive labeled *"Nightshade."*
*"The police ruled her death as a robbery gone wrong, but I knew better."*
The USB's first file was a video. My sister, face bruised, whispered: *"Victor Lee paid Liu Chen to kill me. Maya's involved. Lusi, if you're watching this—"* The screen went black. A key turned in the apartment door behind me.
The USB'S last file wasn't a document. It was a 3-second voicemail of my sister screaming 😱😱.