Author's Note: The language used has a combination of a little bit of Tagalog and English.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are ficticious, unless otherwise stated. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No parts of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any forms or by any means, without the prior permission of the author. Plagiarism is a crime.
"State your name," the man on the other side of the table asked. He was trying his best to sound intimidating—after all, he was facing the sons and daughters of the country's ruling elites. And on top of that, they weren't just privileged; they were geniuses.
Class 12-A student Mariah Rockwell had been missing for a week now. According to her parents, she was last seen on a Saturday morning. She was supposed to attend a class outing on a private island owned by the Villa Monte family. But she never showed up, and no one had seen her since.
"I am Mia Villa Monte."
"I am Hiro Stanfield."
"Lexi Belle Rivera."
"Zeke Maverick."
"Missy Bernardo."
"Merida Simons."
"Hardin County."
"Cynthia Madelyn."
"Connie Reyes."
"Kisses Montreal."
"Shawn Mendes. Don't give me that look, because I am really Shawn Mendes. All a coincidence though—I'm not the singer."
"Derick Sarmiento."
"Sandra Haven."
"Skylar Grey. I'm a boy, by the way—it's my name that disagrees."
"Shinzou Han. Yeah, yeah, my name's weird."
The students spoke with an unnerving confidence, one by one. If you didn't know better, you'd mistake them for the detectives. They radiated both power and intellect, despite their age.
"Are you aware that one of your classmates is missing?" the detective asked.
"Duh. Like I care about her."
"Yes, I just found out now."
"Do I look stupid to you?"
"Geez… Why would I care?"
"Look, detective, you just told me, so… yeah."
"She hasn't been to school, so maybe."
"Yeah."
"Yah."
"Yup."
"Stop stating the obvious, okay?"
"Uhu."
"Ne."
"Just now."
"I don't know. We had an outing for the whole class, but she was missing in action."
"Haven't seen her. She's MIA during our outing."
"She didn't come to the outing."
"She's MIA."
"Ugh, why so many questions? She's MIA, okay?"
"She ditched us."
"The audacity."
"She paid the fines but still didn't come."
"She ditched us."
"She didn't show up."
"MIA as usual."
"Thanks for your cooperation," the detective muttered, exiting the interrogation room.
"Musta kaso natin?" asked a woman in a sharp corporate outfit.
"Hirap. Lahat sila pare-pareho ang sagot," the detective sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Look, I smell something fishy with this missing case," the woman said, and the detective nodded in agreement.
"Ako rin. Pero lahat sila sinasabi na MIA lang yung kaklase nila," he replied, scratching his head. He'd solved dozens of cases in his career, but this one was different.
"Try looking at it from another angle. Hindi lang sa paaralan umiikot ang buhay ng estudyante," she suggested, picking up the folder with the missing girl's information.
"Mariah Rockwell," she read aloud, glancing at the picture clipped inside. "In all fairness, maganda siya. Could this be a kidnap-for-ransom case?"
"Possible. Pero kung ganun, dapat may tumawag na by now, right?" he said, exhaling deeply.
"What about rape? She's been missing for days now. Rape, then murder… that would be tragic." Both of them sighed. If that was the case, whoever did it wouldn't end up in jail—he'd end up in a coffin. You don't cross one of the most powerful families in the country and live.
"Rape, huh…" The detective rubbed his chin, deep in thought.
"Where the hell is this girl?" the woman muttered in frustration. They had multiple cases on their desk, but their superiors insisted this one take priority. All because of money. Everything was always about money.
She flipped back to the file:
MARIAH ROCKWELL
Age: 18
Chevalier High School
Class 12-A
Now that was interesting. Class 12-A wasn't just any section. It was the section for the elites and prodigies.
And the woman knew because she once studied there.
Chevalier was no ordinary school, but Class A was on a whole different level. To get in, you needed both money and brains. You had to keep your grades high without help from anyone. Connections were worthless there—if your classmates ever discovered you pulled strings to secure your spot, you'd experience hell firsthand.