The Mind Trap escape room facility occupied the thirty-second floor of one of Singapore's gleaming towers, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of Marina Bay that would have been spectacular had anyone been paying attention to it. Instead, six employees of Meridian Financial Technologies stood in the reception area, their attention fixed on the enthusiastic young woman in a black polo shirt who was explaining the rules.
"Welcome to our flagship experience, 'The Venetian Vault,'" she chirped, her practiced smile never wavering. "You have exactly sixty minutes to solve the mystery of the missing Doge's treasure. Your phones and smartwatches will be locked in these pouches—" she held up metallic bags that resembled the ones used at concerts, "—as they interfere with our immersive technology."
Priya Mehta, Head of Compliance, surrendered her phone with the reluctance of someone handing over a limb. At thirty-four, she had learned to read patterns in numbers the way others read faces, and something about this mandatory team-building exercise felt off. Perhaps it was the timing—quarter-end, when everyone should have been reviewing reports—or perhaps it was simply her nature to question everything.
"Brilliant use of company resources," muttered Marcus Chen, the senior developer, as he fumbled with his phone pouch. His fingers, more comfortable with keyboards than locks, struggled with the magnetic seal. "We could have just done trust falls in the conference room."
"Come now, Marcus," said James Thompson, the Marketing Director, his Australian accent lending an automatic cheerfulness to his words. "Where's your sense of adventure? Besides, David's bought us all dinner afterwards at Odette."
David Okonkwo, the COO, stood with the natural authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. His Nigerian-British accent carried a weight that made even casual observations sound like boardroom pronouncements. "Consider it an investment in team cohesion. We've all been working in silos lately."
Fatima Al-Rashid, the CFO, checked her watch—a vintage Cartier that had survived the phone-pouch mandate. "Fifty-eight minutes and counting," she said. "I have a call with Tokyo at four."
The youngest of the group, Yuki Tanaka, said nothing. She rarely did, which led most people to underestimate the junior analyst. They didn't know about her eidetic memory or that she'd been quietly observing them all for the six months since she'd transferred from the Tokyo office.
The game room door slid open with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a space decorated to resemble a Venetian palazzo—or at least, a Hollywood set designer's idea of one. Fake marble columns supported a ceiling painted with cherubs, and electronic candles flickered in wall sconces. In the center sat an ornate desk covered with puzzles, locks, and various mysterious objects.
"The door will seal behind you," the attendant explained. "But don't worry—we're monitoring everything through cameras. If you need to leave for any emergency, just say 'Singapore Sling' three times, and we'll extract you immediately."
The door closed with a definitive click.
For the first ten minutes, everything proceeded normally. James took charge of organizing their approach ("Let's divide and conquer—Priya and Fatima, you take the desk; Marcus and Yuki, check the walls for hidden panels"). David examined the bookshelf with methodical precision while Marcus immediately gravitated toward a suspicious-looking electronic panel poorly disguised as a Renaissance painting.
Then the lights flickered.
"Atmospheric," James said, but his laugh carried a nervous edge.
The lights went out completely. Emergency lighting kicked in, casting everything in a sickly green glow. Then came a sound none of them had expected—the distinctive clank of metal shutters rolling down over the windows.
"What's happening?" Fatima's voice cut through the darkness.
Marcus was already at the door, pulling at the handle. "It won't open. The magnetic lock should have disengaged when the power—" He stopped. "This isn't right. The emergency systems should prevent this."
"Singapore Sling, Singapore Sling, Singapore Sling," Priya said clearly.
Nothing happened.
"The cameras," Yuki said quietly, pointing to the corners where the red recording lights had gone dark.
David pulled out his phone pouch, then remembered it was sealed. "We need to—"
A mechanical voice filled the room, neither male nor female, clearly artificial: "Security breach detected. Lockdown protocol engaged. This facility is sealed pending security verification. Estimated time to resolution: eight hours."
"Eight hours?" Fatima's composure cracked slightly. "That's impossible. This has to be part of the game."
But even as she said it, they all knew it wasn't. The quality of the emergency lighting, the real metal shutters instead of props, the sudden staleness of the air as the ventilation system shifted to minimum power—these weren't theatrical effects.
"There's been a mistake," David said, taking charge as he always did in a crisis. "Building security systems don't just—"
"Actually, they do," Marcus interrupted, his face pale in the green light. "If someone triggered a specific kind of breach. Financial crimes protocols. I helped design some of these systems before I joined Meridian." He paused, his mind racing through possibilities. "The building's AI thinks someone's trying to destroy evidence of financial crimes. It's designed to preserve everything—including potential witnesses."
The room fell silent except for the hum of emergency power.
"That's absurd," Fatima said. "Why would—"
"Unless," Priya said slowly, her mind already working through the implications, "someone wanted us trapped here. All of us, specifically."
"Or," David countered, "one of us wanted the others trapped here."
They looked at each other then, really looked, and the room that had seemed merely tacky in its Venetian pretensions now felt suffocating. Six people who worked together every day, who shared coffee and quarterly reports, who complained about the same clients and celebrated the same wins, suddenly became strangers wearing familiar faces.
"This is ridiculous," James said, but his usual cheerfulness had evaporated. "We're not in one of those murder mystery dinners. This is a malfunction, nothing more."
"Is it?" Yuki asked, speaking up for the second time. "The backup systems, the emergency protocols, the safety redundancies—how many things would have to fail simultaneously for this to happen accidentally?"
Marcus had found an emergency panel and was already working on it, his fingers flying over a manual keypad that had been hidden behind a false panel. "She's right. This isn't random. Someone with high-level access to the building's systems would have had to..." He stopped, his fingers freezing over the keys. "Oh, God."
"What?" David demanded.
"There's a terminal here. Hidden behind the emergency panel. It's connected to... it's connected to Meridian's servers." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Someone's been accessing our systems from here. Today. During our... during our team building."
The accusation hung in the air unspoken: one of them had arranged this, had been using this location to secretly access company systems, and had now trapped them all here to cover their tracks.
"We need to think about this logically," Priya said, her compliance training kicking in. "Who knew we'd be here today? Who chose this specific venue?"
"David arranged it," Fatima said, then quickly added, "but James suggested this place originally."
"Based on Marcus's recommendation," James shot back. "He said his friend owned it."
"I said I'd heard good things about it," Marcus protested. "I never said—"
"Stop." David's voice carried enough authority to silence them all. "This is exactly what we shouldn't do. We need facts, not accusations."
But even as he spoke, Priya noticed something—David's hand had moved to his pocket, a nervous gesture she'd seen him make during particularly tense board meetings. Except his phone wasn't there.
"The terminal," she said. "Can you see what was accessed?"
Marcus turned back to the screen, his fingers working carefully. "Someone's been moving money. Small amounts, but consistently. Using emergency maintenance protocols that bypass normal approval chains. The transfers started... three months ago."
"How much?" Fatima asked, her CFO instincts overriding her fear.
"Total? About two million dollars. Scattered across dozens of accounts."
The green emergency lighting made everyone look sick, but someone, Priya noticed, actually was. James had backed against the wall, his face glistening with sweat that had nothing to do with the temperature.
"We need to know who," David said. "Can you trace the user?"
"The logs are encrypted, but..." Marcus frowned. "Wait. Someone's actively deleting them. Right now. From another terminal."
"That's impossible," Fatima said. "We're all here."
"Unless," Yuki said, her quiet voice carrying surprising weight, "someone has a partner. Or a program set to activate at a certain time."
Priya's mind was racing, sorting through data like she did with compliance reports. Three months ago. What had happened three months ago? New client acquisitions, the Sydney office opening, the quarterly audit that had found some minor discrepancies in—
"The Australian accounts," she said suddenly. "James, you managed the integration of the Sydney office systems."
James's cheerful mask finally slipped entirely. "That doesn't mean—lots of people had access to those systems."
"But you reported directly to David on that project," Fatima added, her eyes narrowing. "And David signed off on all the unusual transfer protocols for the integration period."
"Which Marcus coded," David pointed out, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Under your supervision," Marcus shot back.
The room had become a circular firing squad of suspicion. But Priya noticed that Yuki had moved to the desk, examining the original escape room puzzles with peculiar intensity.
"What are you doing?" Fatima demanded.
"Thinking," Yuki replied. "If someone planned this, they needed to ensure we'd all be here. But they also needed an exit strategy. The lockdown can't last forever—someone will override it eventually. So whoever did this must have a way to point blame elsewhere when we're found."
She picked up one of the prop keys from the desk. "In escape rooms, everything has a purpose. But someone added things to this room that weren't part of the original design. The terminal, obviously. But what else?"
As if in answer to her question, a phone rang.
They all froze. None of them had their phones.
The ringing continued, muffled but insistent. It was coming from behind one of the fake columns.
David reached it first, pulling out a cheap burner phone that had been taped behind the pillar. He answered it, putting it on speaker.
"Having fun yet?" The voice was disguised, electronic, impossible to identify.
"Who is this?" David demanded.
"Someone who knows exactly what you've all been up to. The little schemes, the creative accounting, the unauthorized access. Did you really think you were all so clever?"
Priya's blood ran cold. "All?"
The electronic voice laughed. "Oh yes. Every single one of you has been naughty. But only one of you is naughty enough to steal two million dollars. And unless that person confesses in the next hour, I'm sending everything I have to the Monetary Authority of Singapore. Everything."
The line went dead.
"This is insane," James said, his voice cracking. "We're being played by someone."
"Or," Fatima said coldly, "one of us is playing the others."
Priya's mind shifted into overdrive. The caller knew about multiple irregularities, which meant they had inside knowledge. But they also needed a confession, which meant they didn't have everything. Or—
"It's a bluff," she said. "Whoever's doing this doesn't have enough evidence to be certain. They're trying to pressure someone into revealing themselves."
"Then we wait them out," David said.
"No," Marcus said, still at the terminal. "The deletions are accelerating. In an hour, there won't be any evidence left. Whoever's doing this will have covered their tracks completely."
"Unless we can prove who it is first," Priya said.
She thought about what she knew of each of them. David, going through an expensive divorce he'd tried to keep quiet. Fatima, whose husband had lost his job six months ago. James, always living beyond his means, the expensive watches and weekend trips to Macau. Marcus, brilliant but bitter about being passed over for promotion. And Yuki, so quiet, so observant, who'd transferred from Tokyo just as the embezzlement began.
But knowing someone had motive wasn't enough. She needed method and opportunity.
"The transfers," she said to Marcus. "Can you see the timing? Not just dates, but times of day?"
Marcus pulled up what data remained. "Mostly after hours. Wait—" His face went pale. "They match our overtime logs. Specifically, they match when certain people were working late."
"Who?" David demanded.
Marcus's fingers flew over the keyboard. "The pattern is... it's whenever at least two of us were in the office. Never when someone was alone."
"So they needed cover," James said. "Someone else to blame if they were caught."
"Or," Yuki said quietly, "they needed someone else's access codes."
The room went silent. They all knew what that meant. The company's security required two-factor authentication for large transfers, but the system could be fooled if you had someone else's secondary credentials.
"We've all been in the office late with each other," Fatima pointed out. "This doesn't narrow it down."
But Priya was thinking about something else. The way the perpetrator had hidden the phone, the terminal, the elaborate setup. This wasn't just about stealing money—it was about controlling the narrative when they were discovered.
"The escape room," she said suddenly. "Why this specific one? What's special about it?"
"Nothing," James said quickly. Too quickly.
Priya looked at him sharply. "You suggested it. Why?"
"I told you, Marcus recommended—"
"No," Marcus interrupted. "I mentioned escape rooms in general. You specifically chose this one. This floor. This building."
James's composure finally cracked completely. "It had good reviews!"
"It also has something else," Yuki said, having moved to the window. She pointed through the emergency shutter slats. "A perfect view of our office building. With a telescope, you could see right into the executive floor."
The pieces were falling into place in Priya's mind, but something still didn't fit. The caller had said they all had secrets. What if—
"We need to be honest," she said. "All of us. The caller knew things. What irregularities have we each been hiding?"
The silence stretched until David broke it. "I've been using the company car service for personal trips. During the divorce proceedings. To meet with lawyers."
"I've been trading crypto on company time," Marcus admitted. "Using company equipment to mine Bitcoin."
Fatima's jaw tightened. "I approved some expenses that were... borderline. Team dinners that were really client entertainment. Nothing illegal, just... gray area."
Yuki hesitated, then: "I've been copying client data. Not to sell, just... to study. To learn patterns. I wanted to impress you all with my analyses."
They all looked at James.
"I..." He stopped, started again. "I've been gambling. Online. During work hours. Using company computers." He laughed bitterly. "Started small, just sports bets. But it got worse. Much worse."
"How much worse?" Priya asked, though she thought she already knew.
"Two million dollars worse?" Fatima's voice was ice.
"No!" James protested. "I mean, yes, I owe money, but I didn't—I wouldn't—"
"You had motive," David said. "You had opportunity. You suggested this place."
"Because Marcus told me about it!"
"I mentioned it once, months ago," Marcus said. "How did you even remember?"
James opened his mouth, closed it. Priya watched him carefully. He was scared, certainly, but there was something else. Calculation. He was deciding something.
"There's something else," he said finally. "I didn't just suggest this place randomly. Someone... someone sent me a message. Anonymous. Said if I got everyone here, to this specific room, at this specific time, they'd forgive my debts."
"Who?" David demanded.
"I don't know! It was encrypted, untraceable. I thought... I thought it was one of my creditors, wanting to scare me straight or something."
"Or wanting you to take the fall," Priya said.
She thought about the timing. Three months of embezzlement. James's gambling debts growing. The Sydney office integration providing perfect cover for unusual transfers. It was almost too neat.
"Marcus," she said. "The deletion program. Can you stop it?"
"I'm trying, but it's sophisticated. Almost like..." He paused. "Like it was written by someone who knew our systems intimately."
"Or someone who designed them," Fatima said, staring at Marcus.
"Don't be ridiculous. Why would I trap myself here?"
"To look innocent," David suggested. "To be the hero who discovers the crime but tragically can't prevent it."
"That's insane!"
But Priya was thinking about Yuki's observation. Everything in an escape room had a purpose. The terminal, the phone, the evidence being deleted—it was all too theatrical. Like someone was putting on a show.
"The original puzzle," she said suddenly. "The Venetian vault. Has anyone actually been trying to solve it?"
They all looked at each other, realizing that in their panic, they'd abandoned the original game entirely.
"Why does that matter?" Fatima asked.
"Because if someone knew we'd be distracted by the lockdown, by the accusations, they could hide something in plain sight."
Priya moved to the desk, examining the puzzles with fresh eyes. There was a combination lock, a cipher wheel, a series of numbered tiles. Standard escape room fare, except—
"This isn't part of the original game," she said, picking up a small USB drive that had been painted to look like a decorative element. "It's been disguised, but poorly."
She handed it to Marcus. "Can you—"
"Already on it." He plugged it into the terminal. "It's... financial records. Real ones. Meridian account transfers, but not the ones from the embezzlement. These are... older."
"How old?" David asked.
"Six months. Before the embezzlement started. They show..." Marcus went pale. "They show authorized transfers. Signed off by Fatima. To accounts in Dubai."
All eyes turned to the CFO.
"That's impossible," Fatima said, but her voice had lost its authority. "I never—"
"Your husband lost his job six months ago," Priya said quietly. "You needed money."
"Yes, but I didn't steal it! Those transfers were legitimate, for the Dubai expansion project."
"Which was canceled," David pointed out. "But the money was never returned."
"Because it was held in escrow! Check the records—"
"The records being deleted?" Marcus asked.
Fatima's face went ashen. "Someone's framing me."
"Or you're framing yourself to look framed," James suggested desperately.
But Priya was studying Fatima's reaction. The shock was genuine, she was certain. Which meant—
"It's not about the money," she said suddenly. "It never was. The two million is just misdirection."
"What?" David demanded.
"Think about it. Whoever did this could have stolen money quietly for years. Why the elaborate trap? Why force us all here? Why the phone call, the threats?"
"Revenge," Yuki said quietly.
They all turned to look at her.
"Someone wants to destroy us. All of us. The money is just a bonus. The real goal is to have us tear each other apart, to expose all our secrets, to ruin our careers and relationships."
"But who would—" David started, then stopped. "The layoffs."
Three months ago, Meridian had conducted a round of "restructuring." Twenty people had been let go, including—
"Sarah Chen," Marcus whispered. "My sister."
The room went silent.
"She was brilliant," Marcus continued, his voice hollow. "Better programmer than me. But she was deemed 'redundant' when we automated her department. She begged me to help, to talk to you, David. But I... I said it wasn't my place. That it was business."
"Marcus," Priya said carefully, "where is Sarah now?"
"I... I don't know. She stopped talking to me. Said I chose the company over family."
"Could she have done this?" David asked.
Marcus laughed bitterly. "Done what? Set up an elaborate revenge plot? She's a programmer, not a—" He stopped. "Oh God. She knew about this place. I told her about it, months ago, when things were still good between us. And she... she helped me design some of Meridian's security protocols. As a contractor, before she was hired full-time."
"She'd know exactly how to manipulate them," Fatima said.
"And how to frame someone else for it," James added.
The phone rang again.
This time, Priya answered it. "Sarah?"
There was a pause, then the electronic voice said, "Clever. But not clever enough."
"It's over," Priya said. "We know it's you."
"Do you? And what will you do with that knowledge? You're still trapped. The evidence is still being deleted. And in—" a pause, "—thirty-seven minutes, everything goes to the authorities anyway."
"Why?" Marcus asked, grabbing the phone. "Sarah, why?"
"You know why, brother dear. All of you, sitting in your glass tower, making decisions that destroy lives without a second thought. My life. But not just mine. Tom from accounting, who couldn't pay his mortgage after you let him go. Jennifer from HR, whose daughter needed surgery. Twenty people, thrown away like garbage to make the quarterly numbers look better."
"That wasn't personal—" David started.
"Everything is personal!" The electronic disguise couldn't hide the rage. "You just tell yourself it's business so you can sleep at night. Well, now it's my turn to do business."
"Sarah, please," Marcus begged. "This won't bring your job back."
"No, but it will give me justice. And two million dollars to distribute to everyone you destroyed."
"You're Robin Hood now?" Fatima asked sarcastically.
"I'm whatever I need to be. And in thirty-six minutes, you'll all be unemployed at best, imprisoned at worst. The irregularities you've all admitted to? I recorded everything. Your confessions, your accusations, your petty corruptions. Even if you explain the embezzlement was me, you've all admitted to crimes."
The line went dead.
"She's right," James said, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. "We're finished."
"No," Priya said. "We're not."
She turned to Marcus. "Can you access the building's systems from here?"
"Some of them, but the lockdown—"
"Not to escape. To trace her location. She's watching us, controlling the deletions in real-time. She has to be close."
Marcus's fingers flew over the keyboard. "The signal's being routed through... she's in the building. Floor eighteen. The old server room."
"The one scheduled for renovation," David said. "It's been empty for months."
"Except it has independent power and network access," Marcus added. "And it's not covered by the lockdown because it's not technically part of the active building systems."
"So we call the police—" Fatima started.
"With what?" James asked. "We're locked in here, our phones are sealed, and she'll hear any plans we make."
Priya was thinking. In Christie's novels, the solution often came from understanding not just who and how, but why. Sarah wanted justice, but more than that, she wanted them to suffer as she had suffered. To feel powerless, betrayed, abandoned.
"Marcus," she said. "You said she stopped talking to you. When exactly?"
"About a month ago. We had a fight about... about her asking me to steal company data to prove the layoffs were targeted at higher-paid employees."
"And you refused?"
"I... I said I'd think about it. But then I never got back to her."
"So she decided to do it herself," Yuki said. "But she needed access."
"The gambling," James said suddenly. "The anonymous message about my debts. She knew because... because she'd been watching us. Learning our weaknesses."
"She played us all," David said grimly. "But she made one mistake."
"What?" Fatima asked.
"She gave us a puzzle to solve. And that's what we do best."
Priya smiled slightly. "He's right. Sarah thinks like a programmer—linear, logical, every contingency planned. But she's not in this room with us. She can't adapt to what we do next."
"Which is?" Marcus asked.
"We solve the original puzzle. The Venetian vault."
They all stared at her.
"You've lost your mind," James said. "We're facing prison and you want to play games?"
"Not play. Think. Sarah had to modify this room to include her elements. But she couldn't completely redesign it—that would have been noticed. So she worked around the existing puzzle. Which means—"
"The solution to the game might interfere with her plan," Yuki finished.
They spread out, attacking the original puzzle with desperate efficiency. The combination lock yielded to Fatima's mathematical mind. The cipher wheel fell to Marcus's pattern recognition. James's old magician skills helped with a hidden compartment. David's methodical approach uncovered a sequence of symbols.
And Priya noticed something else—each solved element caused a small LED to light up on the electronic panel Marcus had been using.
"It's connected," she said. "The game system and the terminal. Sarah had to integrate them to hide her additions."
"Which means," Marcus said, understanding, "if we complete the game..."
His fingers flew over the keyboard. "I can use the game's completion protocol to override her deletion program. It's a backdoor she wouldn't have thought to close because who would be playing the game during all this?"
"How long?" David asked.
"Five minutes. Maybe less."
They worked with silent intensity, solving the remaining puzzles. With thirty seconds left on Sarah's deadline, the final lock clicked open.
The room's main lights suddenly came on. The shutters retracted. And most importantly, the terminal showed: "DELETION PROGRAM TERMINATED. FILES RECOVERED."
The phone rang one more time.
"Impossible," Sarah's electronic voice said.
"You forgot something," Priya said. "We're a team. A dysfunctional, flawed, sometimes corrupt team, but still a team. And you're right—we all have our sins. But that doesn't give you the right to be judge and jury."
"You destroyed lives—"
"And now you're destroying yours," Marcus said, taking the phone. "Sarah, it's over. The evidence is recovered. Your location is known. But... but I'm not going to turn you in."
Silence.
"What?" David demanded.
"She's my sister," Marcus said simply. "And she's right about one thing—I chose the company over family. I won't make that mistake again."
"Marcus," Fatima warned, "she stole two million dollars."
"Which I'll return," Sarah's voice said, the electronic disguise gone. She sounded exhausted. "I never spent it. I just... I wanted you all to know what it felt like. To be powerless. To have everything taken away by someone else's decision."
"We know," David said quietly. "We know now."
The door to the escape room clicked open. The young attendant stood there, looking confused. "Oh! You solved it! But... the system shows you've been in here for three hours. That's impossible, the game only lasts—"
"Technical glitch," David said smoothly. "We'll be filing a complaint."
As they filed out, collecting their phones, Priya overheard Marcus speaking quietly to someone: "Server room, floor eighteen. No, she won't run. She's tired of running."
Later, as they stood in the lobby, none of them quite meeting each other's eyes, David spoke. "The irregularities we discussed. They stay in that room."
"Agreed," Fatima said quickly.
"The two million?" James asked.
"Will be quietly returned," David said. "Marcus will handle it. A coding error during the Sydney integration."
"And Sarah?" Yuki asked.
"Will be getting a job offer," David said, surprising them all. "In our new ethics and compliance department. Reporting directly to Priya. Someone with her... unique perspective on corporate malfeasance could be valuable."
"You're joking," Fatima said.
"I never joke about business," David replied. "Besides, would you rather have her working for us or against us?"
As they dispersed to their separate lives, Priya reflected on what had happened. In Christie's novels, the guilty were always punished, justice always served. But real life was messier. They were all guilty of something, all innocent of something else. The solution wasn't about pure justice—it was about finding a way forward that acknowledged the shades of gray they all lived in.
Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number: "Thank you for understanding. -S"
Priya deleted it and walked into the Singapore evening, where the city's lights were just beginning to illuminate the gathering dusk, each one representing a life, a story, a secret. The Singapore solution, she thought, wasn't about solving the crime—it was about solving the human equation that led to it.
Behind her, The Mind Trap reset itself for the next group of players, the Venetian vault once again hiding its secrets, waiting for the next team to test themselves against its puzzles. But the real escape room, Priya knew, was the one they all lived in every day—the corporate world with its hidden rules and invisible walls, where the greatest mystery was not who committed the crime, but why good people did bad things, and whether redemption was just another word for a second chance.
As she walked toward the MRT station, she passed a small group of people laughing as they entered a bar. Normal people living normal lives, unaware of the drama that had just unfolded thirty-two floors above them. That was the thing about Singapore, she thought—a city of secrets hidden behind glass and steel, where everyone was solving their own puzzles, looking for their own escape routes, hoping for their own solutions.
The train arrived, and Priya stepped inside, already thinking about the ethics and compliance restructuring she'd need to propose. Sarah Chen would be a challenging addition to her team, but perhaps that's exactly what they needed—someone who understood the cost of their decisions, the human price of corporate efficiency.
As the train pulled away from the station, she caught her reflection in the window—tired, thoughtful, forever changed by the afternoon's events. They'd all entered that escape room as colleagues playing a game. They'd left as conspirators in a shared understanding: that sometimes the real crime wasn't breaking the rules, but hiding behind them.
The Singapore solution, indeed.