Comments Warned Me, I Turned The Tables

I was only one final background check away from securing my future. That afternoon, I grabbed my document folder and prepared to drive to my fiancée’s place to pick up a statement that verified our family relationship. Yet the moment my fingertips touched the car keys, several pale-gray lines of text appeared before my eyes. [Do not touch the car. At 7:20 tonight, someone will die on the West Ring Road service lane. The car that hits them will carry your license plate. Three days later, the victim’s daughter will stab you during your background-check interview.] I stood frozen in the entryway, and cold sweat spread across my back. At that moment, my phone rang. My fiancée’s gentle voice came through the receiver. “Reid, just drive over here. There’s a bunch of paperwork, and I can help you look everything over again.” Chapter 1 Vanessa and I had been engaged for two years. Every relative in both our families said the same thing about her, gentle, intelligent, and able to carry herself well. She was the perfect woman to marry. Still, at that moment, cold crept into my fingertips. I tightened my grip on my phone and asked her, “What documents are so urgent that I have to come over right now?” Vanessa replied in a soft voice, “It’s the family information form you need for your background check. I changed a couple of things in the wording, so it’d be better if you came and picked it up yourself. And don’t take the subway. It’ll be packed during rush hour. Just drive over. It’ll be easier.” The comments had just warned me not to touch my car. Now she urged me to drive it. The coincidence felt deliberate, like someone had laid a noose at my feet and smiled as they told me to take another step. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 5:27 p.m., and it was less than two hours until the time mentioned in the comments. I forced my heartbeat down and kept my voice steady. “My stomach’s been bothering me. I don’t really feel like driving.” There was a brief silence on the other end. “Your stomach? Then I can come pick you up.” “No, that’s okay.” I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. “I’ll just go to a nearby hospital and get some medicine. We can deal with the paperwork tomorrow.” Vanessa’s voice remained gentle. “Zach, they’re checking your documents tomorrow. Don’t push yourself like this. You’ve worked so hard to get this far. Don’t let something go wrong at the very last step.” I replied, “That’s exactly why I cannot afford to make a mistake now.” Then I hung up the call. The elevator took me down to the underground parking garage. My white SUV sat in its usual spot. The license plate, the rims, the sticker on the rear window, and the old scratch on the rear passenger-side door were all exactly the same as when I left that morning. I started recording on my phone. I filmed from the front of the car to the back, then walked around it once. I made sure to capture the license plate, mileage, fuel level, the time displayed on the dashboard, the parking-space number, and the old scratch on the passenger side. Then I called the property manager. “Zach, I think someone might have stolen my license plate information and used it. Could you come down to the basement and confirm that my car is here? And could you leave a message in the residents’ group confirming it?” When Zach arrived, he thought I had fallen for some kind of phone scam. “Mr. Xander, why do you suddenly look so serious?” I did not explain everything. “Could you state the time, location, license plate, and parking-space number on camera?” Seeing that something was wrong, Zach stopped asking questions and did as I requested. I uploaded the video to a legal evidence-preservation platform and generated a timestamp. Then I asked the property management office to install a temporary wheel lock in front of my parking space. Zach furrowed his brows. “That needs to be registered, and you’ll have to sign a temporary installation form.” “Register it. I’ll sign. I’ll cover the cost.” Five minutes later, the wheel lock was secured in place. I put both my car keys and spare key into a clear evidence bag and took a cab to the nearest notary office. Fortunately, they still had a duty clerk on-site until six. I explained the situation. They sealed the items, photographed everything for their records, and issued me a receipt confirming they had accepted the evidence. At 6:08 p.m., I left the notary office. I did not go to see Vanessa. I went into the subway station instead. My transit card records, the station’s surveillance footage, and my phone’s location history would all prove that I had been there. When it was 6:39 p.m., someone screamed from the platform. An elderly man in a gray jacket collapsed beside the escalator. His face was pale, and his forehead was slick with cold sweat. I rushed over and dropped to one knee beside him. “Sir, can you hear me?” His eyes were unfocused, and his lips trembled. Someone nearby shouted, “Is he having a stroke?” I noticed a box of diabetes medication sticking out of his coat pocket. I checked his pulse, then turned to the station staff. “He might be having a hypoglycemic episode. Call 911. Get him some sugar water or a glucose gel. Don’t force anything down his throat. He could choke.” The subway staff brought over a first-aid kit. I helped the old man onto his side to keep him from aspirating and gave him some sugar. Ten minutes later, the paramedics arrived. Once the old man regained some awareness, he grabbed my wrist. “What’s your name, son?” “Reid Xander.” He stared at me for a moment before nodding. “I’ll remember that.” A traffic camera on the West Ring Road service lane captured a white SUV speeding through a crosswalk at 7:20 p.m. An elderly woman carrying a bag of medicine was struck and sent flying. Chapter 2 The news of the accident broke at 8:40 p.m. I sat in the 24-hour self-service area of the Government Services Center. I had just printed a receipt for a criminal-record check when my phone started vibrating nonstop. My class group chat, family group chat, and exam-prep group all forwarded the same video. The footage was shaky. In the video, there were rain, streetlights, and a crosswalk. A white SUV sped through the frame. Someone had zoomed in on the license plate several times. It was my plate. The headlines were as vicious as blood. [Future Government Official Kills Elderly Pedestrian and Flees?] [Fatal Hit-and-Run Days Before Background Check—Still Wants to Join the Anti-Corruption Bureau?] [How Does Someone Like This Deserve a Government Job?] I stared at the screen as tightness spread through my chest. The comments were right. Someone had died. Whether or not that SUV was actually mine, an innocent person had already been dragged into this trap. Vanessa called soon after. Her voice was rushed and trembling, almost as though she cried. “Reid, where are you?” “At the Government Services Center.” “Did you see the video online?” “Yes.” She sounded relieved for a moment, or maybe even more nervous. “Don’t panic. I’ll go with you to the traffic police station and help explain what happened. As long as you didn’t do it intentionally and you cooperate with the investigation, there’s still a chance to sort this out.” I asked coldly, “Why are you assuming I hit someone?” She fell silent. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that if you panicked and didn’t realize what happened at the time…” “My car has been parked in my apartment garage since this afternoon.” “The car in the video has your license plate.” I closed my eyes for a moment. “Which means someone cloned my plate.” There was a pause. She let out a soft sigh. “Reid, you studied law. You should know the public isn’t going to look into all those details. What matters most right now is how you handle this.” How I handle this. She had not even seen the evidence, and she already taught me how to behave like someone who needed to apologize. I replied, “I’ll go to the traffic police station, but I don’t need you to come with me.” I hung up and took a cab straight to the accident investigation division. Before I went inside, I emailed copies of every piece of evidence to myself and uploaded them to two separate cloud drives. I organized everything chronologically. There were the property-management surveillance footage, the wheel-lock installation record, the notarized evidence-sealing receipt, the hash value from the judicial evidence-preservation platform, my subway transit records, my check-in record at the Government Services Center, the receipt confirming my request to preserve the vehicle’s T-Box data from the 4S dealership, and the incident report number from the emergency call at the subway station where I had helped the elderly man. When the traffic officer came to speak with me, his expression was grave. “Reid Xander?” “Yes.” “A vehicle registered under your name and license plate has been implicated in a hit-and-run. We need you to account for your whereabouts around 7:20 tonight.” I did not get angry or plead my case. I handed over the evidence, one document at a time. “My car never left the apartment complex. My car keys and spare key were notarized and sealed before the accident happened. After six, I was at the subway station, the emergency scene, and the Government Services Center. There are independent records confirming all of it.” As the officer went through the documents, his brow slowly furrowed. It was then that Vanessa appeared. The moment she walked through the door, her eyes were red. She came straight to my side and reached for my hand. “Reid, don’t try to handle this all by yourself. I know you’re under a lot of pressure. Your background check is coming up, and when people get anxious, they make mistakes.” The officer looked up at her and asked, “And you are?” “His fiancée.” Vanessa looked at me with concern and tenderness. “I know he isn’t a bad person, but if there’s something he’s not telling us, I hope he’ll be honest about it.” The words were vicious. She never directly accused me of being guilty. Yet with those few words, she quietly slipped the words “confess and cooperate” around my neck like a noose. I pulled my hand away. “Vanessa, I’ll say it again. I wasn’t driving, and I didn’t hit anyone.” She gave me a bitter smile. “I’m just worried about you.” My phone lit up. My younger half-brother, Jason Xander, had just posted on social media. [Some people love to talk about rules until something happens. Then suddenly, all they care about is protecting their own future. What a shame for that old man.] Attached was a photo of a white candle. He never mentioned my name. Yet everyone we knew knew exactly who he talked about. Half an hour later, a disciplinary officer from the government agency handling my recruitment called me. “Reid, given the current public attention surrounding your involvement in a serious traffic accident, tomorrow’s background-check interview has been postponed. Please cooperate with the investigation and wait for further notice.” I gripped my phone tighter and tighter. Years of studying for this, first place on the written exam, first place in the interview, and medical clearance passed. I was only one step away. Now someone laid a human life across the road to my future. Chapter 3 Three days later, I received a notice ordering me to appear at the recruiting agency and give a formal statement. By the time I reached the gates of the provincial government compound, a crowd had already gathered outside. Banners hung from the iron railings. ‘You killed my mother. You must pay with your life!’ ‘A hit-and-run driver wants to become a government official?’ ‘Give ordinary people justice!’ Several social-media streamers stood outside with their phones raised, livestreaming the scene. “Everyone, our future government official is about to arrive. I heard he has powerful connections. They haven’t canceled his recruitment. They only put the background check on hold. Let’s see if he still has the nerve to show his face today.” The moment I stepped out of the car, every camera swung toward me. “There he is!” “That’s him!” “He kills someone and still has the nerve to dress like a decent human being!” I wore a black overcoat over a white shirt. I had chosen the outfit for my background-check interview. Now, it felt like they had dressed me for a funeral in advance. The victim’s daughter stood at the front of the crowd. She looked to be in her thirties, her eyes bloodshot from days without sleep. In her hands, she clutched a framed photograph. The elderly woman in the picture had silver hair and a warm, gentle smile. I later learned that her name was Mary Williams. She worked as a street cleaner for more than twenty years before retiring. That night, she had only gone out to buy some blood-pressure medication for her husband. Mary’s daughter, Natalie Williams, lunged toward me but was stopped by security. “Reid Xander!” Her voice was so hoarse it barely sounded human. “What did my mother ever do to you? You hit her, so why didn’t you stop? And now you want to join the disciplinary inspection system and investigate other people? Do you even deserve to?” The livestream chat exploded. [Cancel his recruitment!] [Someone like him belongs behind bars!] [Is he trying to use his connections to bury the case?] [The victim’s family is suffering so much.] Vanessa was there too. She stood beside the media, her face pale, her eyes red, as though she had not slept in three days. One of the streamers thrust a microphone toward her. “You’re his fiancée. What do you think about all this?” Vanessa lowered her head and stayed silent for a few seconds. “I just hope the truth comes out as soon as possible. Whatever the outcome, I won’t let my personal relationship with him influence my judgment or excuse anyone from responsibility.” How fair and how dignified she was. She washed her hands completely clean with one sentence and left me standing alone on the other side of the crowd. Jason came out supporting my mother’s second husband. His eyes were red, but he held his shoulders straight, looking every bit like the man who had stepped up to shoulder the family’s burden. He turned to Natalie. “Ms. Williams, please don’t do anything rash. We trust the law.” Then he looked at me and said, “Reid, if you’re really innocent, tell everyone the whole story. Don’t let people misunderstand you.” His voice was calm, yet his eyes kept flicking toward the pocket of Natalie’s coat. I noticed it too. The fabric bulged around a sharp, unmistakable shape. When her sleeve shifted, the black handle of a fruit knife appeared for a moment. The blood in my veins seemed to freeze. The knife the comments had warned me about was right in front of me. Another line of text drifted across my vision: [Don’t back down. If you do, they’ll say you’re guilty.] I looked at Natalie. Her anger was real, and so was her grief. However, someone had turned her into a weapon. Vanessa took a seemingly concerned step forward and spoke in a soft voice, “Reid, why don’t you go inside first? Don’t provoke the victim’s family.” I turned to look at her. “Who exactly is provoking the victim’s family?” Something flickered in her eyes. Jason immediately spoke in a low voice. “Reid, this isn’t the time to worry about who said what. Mrs. Williams is dead. The least you can do is apologize first.” The crowd exploded into an uproar. “You hear that? Even his own brother can’t stand him!” “Why won’t he apologize?” “He killed someone and he’s still acting this defiant. How terrifying!” Natalie suddenly wrenched one arm free from the security guard. “Get on your knees!” Her right hand plunged toward her coat pocket. I did not wait another second. I pulled a stack of documents from my bag and held them high above my head. “I’m not getting on my knees. The person who killed Mary wasn’t me.” Chapter 4 I handed the documents to the female officer responsible for maintaining order at the scene. Then I turned my phone screen toward the nearest livestream camera. “First, for the two hours before the accident, my car was parked the entire time in parking space B218 on Basement Level 2 of the underground garage at Oakmont Residences.” In the video, Zach, the property manager, stood beside my car and clearly stated the time, license plate number, and parking-space number. “Second, at 5:42 p.m., property management installed a temporary wheel lock. The installation form bears the management office’s official stamp, and there’s surveillance footage to back it up.” I flipped to the next page. “Third, at 6:03 p.m., I had my car keys and spare key sealed as evidence at Tanner Notary Office. At the time of the accident, neither key was in my possession.” Someone nearby muttered, “He must’ve planned all this in advance, right?” I looked up. “Yes. I did prepare in advance because I suspected someone might have stolen and misused my license plate information, I made sure I had evidence. Preserving evidence isn’t a crime. Faking an accident is.” I continued, “Fourth, at 6:12 p.m., I entered Chandler Street Station on Subway Line 1. There was a medical emergency inside the station, and I helped the staff handle it at 6:41. There are emergency-call and medical-response records to verify that. “Fifth, at 7:18 p.m., I swiped into the 24-hour self-service area at the Government Services Center. At 7:20, the exact time of the accident, I was standing at a self-service machine printing documents. “Sixth, I’ve already asked the dealership to preserve the vehicle’s T-Box data. My car’s engine didn’t start that night. It didn’t move, and there was no collision alert.” Natalie was startled for a moment. She turned to look at Vanessa. “Is what he’s saying true?” Vanessa’s expression was solemn, and her voice turned deliberately soft. “Reid’s evidence does show that he wasn’t personally at the scene.” She paused for a moment as her eyes reddened. “But what if someone else was driving the car? Or what if he arranged for someone else to do it?” The moment those words left her mouth, the crowd erupted again. James immediately jumped in. “Reid, you studied law. Of course you know how to establish an alibi. It’s not that we don’t believe you, but Mrs. Williams died such an unjust death. We can’t afford to overlook a single possibility.” ‘Can’t afford to overlook a single possibility.’ He called my evidence a possibility while the video they edited together was treated as the truth. Natalie’s expression shifted again. Pain, doubt, and fury tangled across her face. “Who did you give the car to?” I looked at her. “No one.” “Then how do you explain the license plate in the video?” “Someone cloned my plate.” One of the livestreamers scoffed, “Cloned your plate? You say it’s cloned, so we’re just supposed to believe you? Where’s the evidence?” Vanessa let out a soft sigh. “Reid, the public backlash is huge, and the recruiting agency is watching too. The more defensive you get, the more people will think you’re trying to exploit some legal loophole.” For the first time, I smiled. “Vanessa, you’re in such a hurry.” Her face stiffened slightly. I did not give her another glance. Instead, I made a video call. It rang for more than ten seconds. The people around me started jeering. “Calling in another connection?” “Let’s see who he can bring out.” “Some government official?” The call connected. An elderly man with a full head of silver hair appeared on the screen. He wore a dark-blue sweater. He looked much healthier than he had at the subway station three days earlier, though his face was still slightly pale. I turned the volume all the way up. “Mr. Shane, sorry to bother you. I need you to confirm something. Around 6:40 p.m. three nights ago, was I at the Chandler Street Station?” The old man nodded. “You were. You saved my life.” The streamer sneered, “Of course he’d vouch for the guy who saved him.” James added in a low voice, “Reid, witnesses can let their emotions get in the way, but the accident footage doesn’t lie.” The old man lifted his eyes. “Accident footage?” His voice was not loud, but there was something in it that made the crowd fall silent. “Are you looking at the original footage, or an edited version?” Vanessa’s gaze darkened for a moment. A female disciplinary officer from the recruiting agency stepped out through the doors. The moment she saw the face on my phone, she stopped dead. The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them. “Mr. Shane?”