Copy & Paste Power in Modern World

Inside Aster Core’s office, Senju was working through a stack of legal papers.

The phones still rang outside, but the new staff were handling them. Senju had moved herself into one corner so she could focus.

The television was on in the room at a low volume.

At first, she was not paying much attention to it.

Then the anchor’s voice became sharper.

"The Eshan Verma environmentalist death case is turning into a major scandal," the anchor said. "Several police officers are now suspected to have been involved in hiding the truth. The police department is facing strong public anger over the way this case was handled."

Senju’s pen stopped.

She slowly looked toward the screen.

The news channel showed old photos of Eshan Verma, then a shot of police officers walking into a building while reporters shouted questions at them.

The anchor touched one ear as if someone had spoken to him through his earpiece. His face changed slightly before he looked back at the camera.

"We are also hearing from our sources that money may have been paid to some police officers by a large company connected to land and development work," he continued. "The name of that company has not been made public yet, but people connected to the investigation are saying that some business-side involvement is being checked."

The anchor continued, "Because of this, pressure on the police department is rising. Questions are now being asked about how a missing-person case stayed buried for so long, and why action was not taken earlier."

Senju watched the report for a few more seconds.

She did not speak.

Then she picked up the remote and turned off the television.

The room became quiet again.

Senju looked at the black screen for a moment, then lowered her eyes to the papers. Aster Core already had enough problems. The files in front of her still needed careful answers, one by one, right now.

She returned to her work.

The scene shifted to another office.

George was also watching the same news.

The moment the anchor repeated the line about a large company connected to land and development, George slammed his fist on the table.

"What is happening?" he shouted.

His assistant stood near the side of the room with a phone in his hand. He had already tried three numbers and failed.

George turned toward him.

"Are you just standing there?" George shouted. "Call them."

The assistant’s face became pale. "Sir, I am trying. No one is picking up."

George looked back at the television.

The reporter was still talking. The channel had not spoken his name, but the shape of the report was enough to make his chest tighten.

The report had pulled the land business into Eshan’s old case, and police names were mixed in too. In this province, not many companies could fit that line. Even if the public did not know, business circles would start guessing.

"This is his work," George said under his breath.

His jaw tightened.

"He had me attacked, and now he is coming after me from this side too."

He placed one hand on his head.

He had made a mistake. He knew threats could grow when they were left alive, but he had still let this one grow.

George grabbed the remote and changed the channel.

The next channel was showing the same story. He changed it again, but the same photos and the same angry voices came back.

George threw the remote on the table.

"What are you doing?" he shouted at his assistant again.

The assistant flinched. "Sir, I am trying. No one is answering."

George stared at him.

"No one?"

"No one, sir."

George’s face changed.

For a moment, he could not understand it.

How could no one pick up his call?

Had they already started treating him like a guilty man?

Before he could speak again, the assistant looked down at the phone.

"Sir," he said quickly, "the police commissioner is connected."

He stepped forward and handed the phone to George.

George took it at once.

His anger did not disappear, but his voice changed before he spoke.

"Sir," George said, forcing his tone to become respectful, "someone is trying to drag my name into this. This was done on purpose. You have to help me."

The voice from the other side was cold.

"George, you are in a very bad position right now. And to be honest, you are not in a position to ask me for anything."

George froze.

He had supported police officers. He had helped politicians. He had given money when members of parliament needed quiet help during elections. And now, when he needed one door to open, everyone was stepping back.

"Sir," George said, his voice turning tighter, "I need you right now. If you don’t stand with me, then who will?"

The commissioner let out a tired breath.

"Go underground for a few days," the commissioner said. "Stay away from cameras. Right now, the situation is bad for you."

George’s control slipped.

"You should have told me this when I was helping all of you," he said. "When I supported you, no one told me to stay away."

The commissioner’s voice hardened at once.

"Do not speak like you own us, George."

George went silent.

The commissioner continued, "Whatever favors you had were used last time. You made too many people move, and all of them had to answer for it."

George’s fingers tightened around the phone.

"After that, you do not have much influence left," the commissioner said. "You know how this works. Do not behave like a child."

Then the call ended.

George kept the phone near his ear for a few seconds even after the line went dead.

His assistant did not dare to speak.

George slowly lowered the phone.

Until now, he had always believed he had one final card. If a matter became ugly, he could call the right people and bury it before it reached his door.

But now even that card was not standing with him.