A Curious Exploration of an Unusual World

The apartment felt strangely untouched, like the air hadn't moved in days. It was silent, cold, and too still—almost like the space had paused the moment the man died and never quite started again.

Max, Grace, and Ben stepped inside, careful not to disturb anything. Gloves on, bags slung over their shoulders, expressions serious. They weren't here to guess anymore. They were here to confirm what they already suspected.

"Same layout as in the plans," Max murmured, glancing around. "No surprises yet."

Grace had already moved to the thermostat, kneeling in front of it as she unpacked a scanner from her bag. "I'll start here. Let's see what this thing was really up to."

Ben walked to the nearest air vent and crouched beside it, checking its size and location. "If someone pumped something in through here, we need to know how and when."

Max nodded, pulling out a small tablet. "And whether it's something the system could've done on its own... or if someone told it to."

They split up, working in quiet coordination. Grace focused on the smart home system, checking its software for anything unusual. Max followed the airflow paths, tracing vent connections from the living room to the bedroom. Ben looked at the room itself—the locks, the windows, the little details most people ignored.

"Got something," Grace said after a few minutes, tapping her screen. "There's a buried program here. It's not standard. Someone installed it through a fake maintenance update."

Max looked over. "A remote trigger?"

"More like a timed override," she replied. "It caused a short power drop—half a second, maybe—then pushed a set of hidden commands to the HVAC. That's how they got it to release... whatever it was."

Ben nodded slowly. "So the killer didn't need to be here during the murder. They just set it all up in advance."

"And made sure it looked like suicide," Max added, checking the vent pressure logs. "Even the air data looks normal... unless you're specifically looking for inconsistencies. This was planned. Thoroughly."

They paused, letting that settle.

"It's completely feasible," Grace said. "They planted a transmitter in the thermostat, hijacked the ventilation software, and triggered a release when the victim was alone and asleep."

"No windows were open, no doors used, no forced entry," Ben said. "And by the time anyone got here... whatever gas or substance they used was already gone."

Max sighed. "They cleaned it up with silence."

A quiet moment passed between them. The pieces were fitting together now—more than before, more than they expected. The method was no longer a theory. It worked. Someone had used the apartment's own systems to carry out the murder, and the official investigation hadn't looked close enough to notice.

Grace stood up and stretched her back. "Alright. We know how it happened. Now we need to figure out who made it happen."

"I'll look into his work contacts," she said. "Emails, messages—anything that might show tension, grudges, or something that went south."

"I'll check the building," Ben offered. "Visitor logs, neighbors—anyone who might've noticed something off.."

Max looked at the air vent one last time. "I'll focus on the little things. Items in the apartment. Anything left behind that doesn't fit."

They nodded. No celebration. No 'we did it.' Just the start of the next step.

Now that the how was clear, the only question left was who.

And somewhere out there, the person who did this might already be watching to see if anyone was getting too close.

---

The café was quieter today, steeped in a rainy morning stillness. Outside, the clouds hung low, dimming the light into a soft gray. Inside, the trio gathered once again—laptops open, notebooks scattered, drinks forgotten beside them. The mood was sharper now—less speculative, more focused.

Grace's eyes darted between tabs, her fingers clicking rapidly. "I've been going through his bank history again. Something kept bothering me."

Max leaned forward. "Let me guess—money that shouldn't be there?"

"Exactly." She tapped the screen. "Four major deposits over the last three months. Each one just under the reportable threshold. No source listed, but I traced them back to a shell account. The trail eventually led back to a private account belonging to one of his higher-ups."

Ben looked up. "Wait, you're saying his boss was paying him off?"

"Not quite his boss," Grace clarified. "More like a team lead. A guy named Orlen Voss. He's mid-tier—not high enough to authorize major raises, but close enough to influence performance reviews and promotions."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Which the victim just happened to get."

"Two months ago," Grace said, nodding. "Unusually fast-tracked. No major project closed under his name. No presentation. Nothing public."

Ben frowned. "Blackmail?"

"Looks that way," Grace confirmed. "But we need more to prove it."

Max scrolled through the digital folder Grace had shared with him, eyes narrowing at a half-deleted thread from the company's internal messaging system.

"These aren't official records," he muttered. "But someone tried to erase them. Sloppy."

He highlighted a message that read:

'You owe me more than that. Don't forget who saved your career.'

And another:

'You don't want this becoming public. Keep your promises.'

Ben whistled. "Subtle as a sledgehammer."

"There's more," Max said. "The timestamp matches with the day after the victim's raise was approved. That's no coincidence."

They exchanged a look.

Grace minimized her window and pulled up a name. "Orlen Voss. Let's find out more about him."

---

Later that afternoon, Ben visited the company office—this time without a laptop or notepad. Wearing nothing but his quiet charm and a neutral expression. He didn't go to the front desk. Instead, he made a casual detour around the side of the building and struck up conversation with a janitor taking a smoke break.

"Big place," Ben said, nodding up at the glass-and-steel structure.

"Too big," the janitor muttered. "You need something?"

"Actually," Ben said, "just wondering if you ever saw a guy—late thirties, worked upstairs—stay after hours. Quiet type. Name's Orlen."

The janitor squinted. "Yeah, I've seen him. Usually around ten or eleven. Once or twice he met someone down in the basement hallway. Looked like arguments, not meetings."

"Any idea who he was arguing with?"

"Couldn't see much. One of 'em was the guy who died, right?"

Ben nodded slowly. "That's the one."

The janitor tapped ash from his cigarette. "Figured something was weird when he got that promotion. Half the floor didn't like him. Then boom—corner desk and a raise."

Ben thanked him and left before anyone else noticed.

---

By evening, the three met again—this time at Grace's place, where data replaced coffee cups and a dozen screens lit the room with soft, flickering light.

"We were looking at this wrong," Grace said, opening a new window. "I dug into internal maintenance records. Voss had network privileges. I found logs of him accessing HVAC firmware days before the incident—just hours after those software changes were pushed remotely."

Ben looked impressed. "So he had the knowledge, the access, and a motive."

"That still leaves the delivery system," Max said. "We need to know what he used."

"Check this," Grace said, pulling up a message from a private email server tied to Voss. "He'd recently exchanged emails with someone at a chemical testing company. Not officially tied to work. But there's one message flagged with attachments. It's a manual—about leak-detection gases. Most degrade rapidly in open air."

Max read it over, eyes widening. "It says direct exposure to concentrated amounts can cause massive lung trauma—hemorrhaging."

Ben nodded slowly. "And if that was released directly into the room, synced to the HVAC override..."

"Then he didn't need poison," Grace said. "Just precision."

They sat back in silence, letting the full picture settle.

A coworker, blackmailed over an affair, driven to desperation. A gas meant for safety used as a weapon. A victim too sure of his own power.

Max finally spoke. "We forward this to the police. With evidence. And to the victim's family. This case needs to be reopened.

However, considering how fast it was closed, i suspect someone from the investigaton team to be covering him. "

"Already did, to the family of the victim atleast." Grace said quietly, turning her laptop toward them.

An email draft was on screen, with files attached—autopsy, messages, account logs, HVAC blueprints.

Ben gave a small nod. "Then let's have

Mr. Blake handle it from the official side."

---

Certainly! Here is a polished, in-character conversation between Max and his father, Jonathan Blake, that fits naturally within the tone and world of your story. This scene could take place the morning after the trio has compiled their findings and sent them to the police tip line.

---

The early morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting slanted lines of light across the hardwood floor. Jonathan sat behind his desk, nursing a mug of black coffee, the scent sharp and bitter in the air. He was reviewing incident logs on a secure tablet when Max stepped into the room.

Jonathan looked up. "You're up early."

Max shrugged, holding a sealed envelope in one hand and a USB drive in the other. "Didn't sleep much."

Jonathan gestured toward the chair across from him. "Something bothering you?"

Max sat, dropping the items on the desk. "A new case. a rather smart murder. Almost got away with it."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.

Max continued, "Man found dead in a locked apartment. Internal trauma, no visible injuries. Declared suicide in under seventy-two hours. Case closed with barely any investigation."

He pushed the USB closer. "We reopened it. Grace found money trails, Ben tracked witness sightings, I checked the autopsy logs. It all points to a coworker—someone the victim was blackmailing. The guy used a modified industrial gas and rigged the HVAC system with a timed override. Remote delivery. Leaves no residue."

Jonathan picked up the USB, examining it. "Clean and efficient."

"Clean indeed," Max said. "But even the report was… light. No follow-up, no deep tox scan. And Grace caught signs the logs were touched up. It's not just the killer. Someone helped bury this."

Jonathan's face darkened slightly. "Someone inside."

"Maybe someone trying to protect company interests," Max offered. "Or just lazy oversight. But it smells wrong."

Jonathan nodded slowly and plugged the drive into his terminal. His expression changed as the files began to load—text logs, transaction records, HVAC schematics, screenshots, and annotated timelines.

He scrolled in silence for several minutes.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were sharp. "This is solid work. Meticulous, layered, and thorough."

Max blinked, not expecting praise so plainly.

Jonathan leaned back in his chair. "You're not wrong to be suspicious. This shouldn't have been closed so fast. I've seen weaker cases drag for months."

"So?" Max asked. "What happens now?"

Jonathan gave a short nod. "I'll forward this to someone who still cares about justice. Internal Affairs, maybe. I know a few analysts who've been waiting for something like this. It won't vanish this time."

Max let out a quiet breath.

Jonathan studied him a moment longer. "You three did good, Max. Quietly, carefully—and better than some trained agents I've worked with."

Max glanced away, a little embarrassed, but also proud.

Jonathan's voice softened. "Just… be careful. The world isn't always fair. But if you're going to do something, do it smart—and do it with backup."

Max stood, nodding. "We've got each other."

"Good," Jonathan said. He inserted the drive again, copying its contents. "I'll make sure this gets where it needs to go."

He looked up at his son one more time.

"And I'll make sure the right people see it through."

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