A Trail Behind the Hotel Lobby

The five-star hotel stood proudly in the heart of Jakarta. From the outside, nothing seemed unusual—just another place where executives had overpriced breakfasts and diplomats in tailored suits exchanged business cards. But Ari knew, it was in lobbies like this where real games were played.

He arrived alone. Early in the morning. Casual clothes, no suit, carrying only a thin brown folder filled with copies of offshore money transfer evidence. He had arranged a meeting with a former internal auditor—someone who used to work inside the opposing company before mysteriously disappearing from the radar.

The man showed up five minutes later. Overweight, sweating, his eyes scanning the room constantly.

"Don't say my name. You never met me. Understand?"

Ari simply nodded. Quietly, he turned on the voice recorder built into his wristwatch.

"When you brought that case into the spotlight, they panicked. The top guys in Singapore started calling Jakarta. What you're up against isn't just a company. It's a money laundering vehicle—used by some very powerful names. Officials. Tycoons. Your win in court? That was just the tip of the iceberg."

Ari listened, calm on the outside, but thoughts racing inside.

"There was a meeting a few nights ago. On the 22nd floor of this hotel. They've started discussing… how to 'stop' you. Permanently."

Ari gave a faint smile."They forget—I didn't study law just to win lawsuits. I studied it to survive character assassinations."

The man stood up."I've said too much already. Be careful, Ari. Seriously. You're still young. You can still walk away."

Ari stared at his now-cold cup of coffee."Walking away isn't an option. Because if I walk away—who's left to keep going?"

Then he stood, walked out of the hotel with steady steps. In the basement parking lot, he got into his car, started the engine, and opened his phone.

One new message.No name. No number.

"The evidence you hold won't save you. But it could burn us all."

Ari stared at the road ahead.And for the first time, he realized: this was no longer just a case.It had become a war of information, integrity, and survival.

As Ari drove out of the hotel basement, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

The street was too quiet for a Monday. The same black sedan from earlier… was now trailing him again. Not close. Not obvious. Just far enough to blend in.He took three random turns. The car followed. He stopped at a traffic light that turned green. The car behind didn't move. It just waited. Watching.

Ari pulled into a side alley, parked behind a delivery truck, and waited.

Ten minutes passed.Then fifteen.When he finally pulled back onto the main road, the sedan was gone.

But the threat wasn't.

Back at his office, the air felt heavier. He checked the lock twice. Pulled the blinds. Then opened his laptop and inserted a hidden flash drive—one that contained the unfiltered evidence the court never saw:

A scanned letter from a foreign embassy asking for "discretion" in judicial matters

An internal memo from a Jakarta-based law firm planning to "neutralize public backlash"

And a list of "problematic individuals" marked for surveillance. His name was third.

His phone buzzed. An unknown number again.This time: a voice message.

"We know where you live, Mr. Pratomo.We know where she lives too."

He froze. She.It could only mean one person—his younger sister, Alia. The one he kept out of the public eye. No social media. No photos. No traces.

Until now.

He stood up. Heart racing. Mind spinning. He picked up his car keys, ready to drive straight to her apartment, but something made him stop. If they wanted him to panic, it was working. If they wanted to bait him into the open, he was about to walk straight into it.

Instead, he called a trusted friend from law school. A hacker-turned-cyber-investigator.

"Rey, I need a trace. Secure line. Can you check the origin of a voice message and cross it with embassy servers or encrypted apps?"

"I thought you were doing legal stuff, not spy games," Rey muttered."I am," Ari replied. "But apparently, so are they."

There was silence on the line. Then Rey replied:

"Ari... whatever you've stepped into... it's not just dirty.It's government-adjacent."

Ari stared at the map on his wall—pins, photos, strings connecting judges, firms, corporations, politicians.

This wasn't about a case anymore.

It was a machine.

And he had just become the wrench.

That night, the rain came hard.

Ari sat alone in his office, lights off, only the glow of his laptop screen reflecting in his eyes. On the screen: an email draft, unsigned, unsent. Addressed to an international journalist he'd met years ago at a human rights seminar.

He hovered his finger over the "Send" button.

Then stopped.

His phone vibrated again. No number. No contact.

But this time, it wasn't a message.It was a live video feed.

It showed his sister—Alia—leaving her apartment, locking her door, unaware. She was walking to her car. Smiling. Peaceful. Untouched.

But someone was filming her. From the shadows.

Ari's blood froze.

Then a message appeared below the video:

"Truth has a price.Pay it—or someone else will."

His hands tightened into fists. His jaw clenched.For the first time in years, he felt fear not for himself—but for someone he loved.

The rules had changed.The court was no longer his battlefield.This war had moved into the streets. Into families. Into shadows.

He stood up slowly, walked to the window, and looked out at the city soaked in lightning and silence.

This wasn't justice anymore.

It was survival.