Chapter 5: Meeting Maya Lin

👉 [Previous Decision]: You chose Option A – Secretly roll a hidden note into the casing of an antique fountain pen to pass past the scanner.

The city air outside LuminaTech headquarters felt cool against my face, a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the 14th floor. My “outie” self, the one who remembered everything beyond the eight hours inside, took over as I walked the three blocks to my apartment.

I kicked off my shoes by the door. As I reached for my left loafer, my fingers brushed against an unfamiliar lump in the heel. My heart jumped.

I carefully peeled back the sole. A tiny, crumpled piece of paper emerged. My own cramped handwriting stared back at me: “Missing hours. Chemical residue. Julian Kincaid. Project Lethe. Something horrific.”

My breath hitched. The dread I had felt on the 14th floor, muffled and vague, now hit me with full force.

I knew I couldn’t go to the police directly. LuminaTech had lawyers, a fortress of NDAs. I needed someone who knew how to dig, how to expose. An investigative journalist.

I remembered a name from an article I’d read weeks ago, detailing corporate offshore tax evasion. Maya Lin. Her reporting was relentless, her sources deep.

I found her contact information after twenty minutes of frantic searching online. Her email address was public, clearly an invitation for tips.

I composed a careful message, omitting identifying details but providing enough specifics to pique her interest: “LuminaTech, Project Lethe, 14th floor, illegal human experimentation. Evidence of memory manipulation.”

A day later, my phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number. “Evan Novak?” a crisp voice asked. “This is Maya Lin.”

We met at a discreet cafe twenty blocks from LuminaTech. Maya was sharper than her online photos suggested, her eyes constantly scanning, assessing. She wore a simple trench coat despite the sunny weather.

“You’re alleging human experimentation?” she asked, her voice low. She took a sip of her black coffee.

I slid the crumpled note across the table. “I’m alleging missing time, odd sensations, and a chilling warning from my best friend, Julian Kincaid, who runs the project.”

She smoothed out the note, her brow furrowing as she read. “Julian Kincaid. Senior VP. Project Lethe. That lines up with some of the internal documents I’ve seen related to LuminaTech’s ‘special projects’ budget.”

“I think they’re erasing our memories,” I confessed, my voice barely audible. “Eight hours a day. And then they’re doing something else, something worse, on that floor.”

Maya looked up, her expression grim. “This isn’t just tax fraud. This is a federal offense of a different magnitude.”

“How can we prove it?” I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. “The 14th floor is locked down. And there’s a sub-level beneath it, Sub-level 3, that’s even more restricted.”

She tapped a finger on the table. “We need something concrete. Something undeniable from Sub-level 3. Access logs, genetic markers, anything that ties them to this.”

“How do I get that?”

“That, Evan,” she said, her eyes meeting mine, “is the next problem.”

➡️ Read CHAPTER 6 to continue the story