Chapter 7: The Vanishing Story
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Scene 1: The Disappearance of the Story
The morning was crisp, and the café, a favourite haunt of the group, was buzzing with the low murmur of early risers and the clinking of coffee cups. Beate, Mia, and Prof. David sat around a small table, the most prestigious newspaper in the country spread out in front of them, the air thick with anticipation.
They’d all been eagerly awaiting Olivier’ article, the exposé that promised to reveal the global surveillance system and the dark sides of converging technologies. Beate had bought the paper as agreed, and the three of them were ready to see the fruits of their efforts printed on the front page.
But as they flipped through the newspaper, their hope quickly turned into resignation. Olivier’ article was nowhere to be found.
Beate furrowed her brow as she turned to the first page. A few regular political pieces, the usual business reports—nothing out of the ordinary. She flipped to the second, and then the third. Still nothing.
“What the hell does that mean?” Prof. David muttered, flipping through the pages in quick succession. “This is the biggest story of the decade! Why would they bury it like this?”
Mia’s expression darkened as she scanned the paper a second time, a tight knot forming in her chest. “It’s not even on page two or three. It’s like it never happened.”
“What’s going on?” Beate’s voice was a little too loud, her concern growing into something sharper. “Olivier said the story was going to appear today, on Saturday, when the paper would have the most readers. So, what happened?”
Prof. David leaned back in his chair, staring at the paper, lost in thought. His hands were still poised on the pages, but he wasn’t reading. He was looking for answers—answers that just didn’t exist.
Beate quickly pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialled Olivier’ number.
The phone rang, but no one picked up. The line went to voicemail.
“Olivier, it’s Beate,” she said, her voice growing tight with frustration. “We’ve been waiting for the story to appear, but it’s not in the paper. What is going on? Call me back as soon as you hear this.”
She ended the call and looked at the others. The air between them was thick with tension.
“Maybe something happened with the print run,” Mia suggested half-heartedly, her eyes still scanning the paper for some hidden clue. “Or… Olivier pulled the piece for some reason. Maybe he was getting cold feet.”
“No,” Beate said, shaking her head. “Oli wouldn’t back out. I know him well enough. He promised it would run today.”
The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the unease growing as time stretched. Olivier was unreachable. What did that actually mean?
Scene 2: The Unexpected Police Presence
They left the café quietly, trying to digest the strange silence that had followed their discovery. The cold air outside felt like a sharp contrast to the heaviness of their thoughts.
Beate was just about to suggest they go to Olivier’ apartment, when her gaze was drawn to the corner of the street. A pair of police cars were parked outside the café.
“Why are the police there?” Mia asked, her voice low. “What’s going on?”
The group exchanged a confused look. There were no signs of anything suspicious—no crowds, no commotion. Just two cars, parked with a few officers standing near the door, seemingly speaking in hushed voices. But it wasn’t enough to raise an alarm. Not yet.
“They’re probably just investigating a minor incident or something,” David said, trying to dismiss the unease building up inside him. “Did we perhaps forget to pay”, he joked? But he too couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
They continued walking, but as they turned a corner, the police cars were suddenly moving—quickly, down the street, disappearing behind the next block. The tension in the air hadn’t dissipated.
“Let’s not ignore this,” Beate said, her instincts alert. “I think we need to check on Olivier. I don’t like this.”
But there was no time to pursue the thought any further. The group split off to run their errands for the weekend, each of them caught in their own thoughts, the creeping suspicion growing in their minds.
Scene 3: The Police at Beate’s Door
It wasn’t long until Beate arrived home. She set her bags down with a sigh, the weight of the day still lingering on her shoulders.
Before she could even close the door behind her, the ring of the doorbell startled her.
She opened the door a bit.
Two police officers stood there. One was tall, with a sharp, calculating gaze, while the other was shorter, his face serious.
“Ms. Beate Fisher?” the tall officer asked.
“Yes?” Beate replied, her heart pounding. “What’s this about?”
“We need to ask you a few questions,” the officer said. “You were the last person to be in contact with Olivier Brandt before his death. His car had a terrible accident. Even though the body hasn’t been found yet, it is impossible he could have survived. There was too much blood in the car. Someone must have taken the corpse out. What do you know about all this?”
Beate felt a chill run through her body. Olivier was dead! The words seemed to hang in the air between them, impossible to process. She remembered the short romance with him a couple of years ago at a student party. Her heart tightened, while the police officers were trying to read her facial expression.
After some thinking, she opened her mouth, but the officer didn’t give her a chance to respond.
“You were the last person to call him,” he repeated. “We need to know what you two were discussing. What was it about? Were you aware that Mr. Brandt had been investigating a series of sensitive topics?”
Beate stood there, stunned. Olivier’ death—was it an accident at all or was he assassinated?
“I… I didn’t know he was working on anything particularly dangerous,” she said, her voice shaking. “We were just talking about an article, but we didn’t discuss specifics. Just some general topics, like data privacy. Nothing major.”
The officers exchanged glances, and Beate could feel the tension rising. Something didn’t feel right.
“We’ll need to take you down for questioning, Ms. Fisher,” the officer said, his tone flat. “You’re a person of interest in this case.”
Beate’s heart sank. A suspect? She panicked. How was that even possible? She had nothing to do with Olivier’ death—nothing at all!
But the officers were already moving to arrest her.
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