Rain had been falling since five in the afternoon.
Not a downpour.
Just a long, steady drizzle that made the streets of Arcapura look like black glass beneath the glow of passing headlights.
Raka sat alone in a coffee shop behind the old courthouse.
The place was quiet.
There were only a few tables.
A college student in the corner.
Two employees speaking in low voices.
And a woman who had been sitting at the table closest to the window for the past five minutes.
Raka had never met her in person.
But he knew that face.
Nadira Maheswari.
A former investigative journalist for a national media outlet.
Nadira's name had appeared in several major reports on government procurement and conflicts of interest involving regional officials.
She was known for one habit: She never wrote anything based on a single source.
Raka opened his phone.
The last message from Bima was still there.
If you want someone to read that data without turning it into gossip, meet Nadira.
Raka looked at the woman by the window.
Nadira was reading a book.
Her hair was tied back simply.
There was no camera.
No oversized notebook.
Just a laptop and a cup of coffee.
Raka stood.
He walked over.
“Ms. Nadira?”
The woman looked up.
Her gaze was sharp.
“Raka?”
Raka nodded.
Nadira closed her book.
“Sit.”
Raka sat down.
Nadira did not smile.
“Bima said you’d come.”
Raka fell silent.
“Where’s Bima?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bad answer.”
“It is.”
Nadira studied him for several seconds.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Do what?”
“Sit here.”
Raka frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if you’ve brought data to me, it means you no longer trust the people at your office.”
Raka looked at her.
“That’s right.”
“And if you don’t trust them, then you already know the problem is bigger than a transfer.”
Raka said nothing.
Nadira opened her laptop.
“Open the data.”
Raka pulled out a flash drive.
He placed it on the table.
Nadira did not pick it up right away.
“What’s on it?”
“Transfer history. Promotions. Status changes.
System logs.”
“All of it?”
“Some of it.”
“Why only some?”
“Because I don’t know who can access my laptop.”
Nadira nodded.
“Good.”
Raka looked at her.
“Good?”
“You’re starting to learn.”
The flash drive connected to Nadira’s laptop.
A folder opened.
SENTRA — INTERNAL.
Nadira began reading.
No comments.
No expression.
Only her eyes moved quickly from one line to the next.
Raka waited.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Then Nadira opened a file.
“Who’s this?”
“Hendra Pratama.”
“Status?”
“Resigned.”
“You believe that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The letter was created on the server.”
Nadira stopped.
“Can you prove it?”
Raka nodded.
“Metadata. Logs. Timestamp.”
Nadira read more carefully.
“2:13 a.m.”
Raka nodded.
“All the important changes happened at the same time.”
“ADMIN-ROOT?”
“Yes.”
Nadira leaned back.
“Who’s the administrator?”
“No one.”
Nadira looked at Raka.
“No one?”
“Officially.”
“Then unofficially?”
Raka did not answer.
Nadira opened another set of data.
“This is interesting.”
She pointed to a table.
“The transfer decision was made on the twelfth.”
“The supporting data is dated the sixteenth.”
“Yes.”
“Four days after the decision.”
Nadira nodded.
“And you found other cases?”
“One hundred seventy-three.”
Nadira looked at him.
“One hundred seventy-three?”
“That we identified.”
“How many haven’t you found?”
“I don’t know.”
Nadira fell silent.
Then she opened a chart.
Several names appeared.
Some went up.
Some went down.
Some moved repeatedly.
Nadira enlarged the chart.
“Who are they?” “Employees who once worked in oversight units.”
Nadira studied the pattern.
“And the groups that were promoted?”
“Most of them came from different units.”
“Which units?”
Raka named them.
Nadira typed something.
Then she opened more data.
She cross-referenced the employee list with a list of government projects.
Several names appeared again and again.
Nadira stopped.
“Raka.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know what you’re looking at?”
“Manipulated transfers.”
Nadira shook her head.
“Bigger.”
“How much bigger?”
She opened a document.
Inside was a list of names.
Some were officials.
Some were businesspeople.
Some were consultants.
Some were members of campaign teams from the previous regional-head election.
Raka stared at the screen.
“Where did this come from?”
“Public data.”
“Why have I never seen it?”
“Because you searched by employee name.”
Nadira pointed at the screen.
“I searched by connections.”
Raka leaned closer.
“What connections?”
“Positions.”
She opened one name.
Then another.
Then the next.
They were all connected.
Not directly.
But through projects.
Companies.
Expert teams.
Organizations.
And official placement.
Raka began to understand.
“So the people who received promotions…”
“Not all of them,” Nadira said.
“But some?”
“Some had ties to a certain group.”
Raka fell silent.
Nadira returned to the SENTRA data.
“Now look at this.”
She opened an employee’s change history.
“His performance score went up.”
“Yes.”
“After that, he was promoted.”
“Yes.”
“Who gave him the evaluation?”
Raka opened the details.
An official’s name appeared.
Nadira searched for the name.
Then she smiled faintly.
“This official was once a member of the advisory team for a project carried out by a company owned by…”
She stopped.
Raka finished the sentence.
“Arman Prasetyo.”
Nadira nodded.
The name filled the screen.
Raka said nothing.
Arman Prasetyo.
A political figure Raka had known only from the news.
Someone rarely seen in the government structure, yet whose name often surfaced behind major strategic decisions.
Raka looked at Nadira.
“So Arman controls the transfers?”
Nadira did not answer.
She closed one document.
“Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s a journalist’s first mistake.”
Raka looked at her.
“First mistake?”
“Finding someone who looks guilty and assuming the case is over.”
“Then what should we look for?”
Nadira opened several tabs at once.
“Who benefits.”
“From the transfers?”
“From the system.”
Raka fell silent.
Nadira pointed at the screen.
“If someone transfers one employee, it might be a personal interest.”
“What if it’s hundreds?”
“Then it’s no longer a personal decision.”
“Then what is it?”
Nadira looked at Raka.
“Structure.”
The rain grew heavier.
The coffee shop began to empty.
The owner turned up the music.
Raka picked up his coffee.
“Why are you willing to help me?”
Nadira looked at him.
“I’m not helping you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m examining the data.”
“What’s the difference?”
“If the data is wrong, I’ll walk away.”
“And if it’s true?”
Nadira closed her laptop.
“If it’s true, I’ll find out who’s responsible.”
Raka said nothing.
Nadira continued:
“But I have one condition.”
“What?”
“Never give me data you haven’t checked yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because once this gets out, they’ll attack the source.”
Raka understood what she meant.
“And I’m the source.”
Nadira nodded.
“Not just you.”
“Who else?”
“Everyone whose name is in the data.”
9:06 p.m. Nadira still hadn’t closed her laptop. She opened one file they hadn’t checked yet. Its name: A-17. Raka looked at it. “What is this?” Nadira shook her head. “I don’t know.” She opened it. The folder asked for a password. Bima had previously given Raka a code. Raka entered it. Access denied. Nadira tried another combination. Denied. Raka remembered something. “Try the twenty-first.” Nadira looked at him. “Why?” “Bima once mentioned the A-17 code.” Nadira entered: 2109. The screen opened. There was only one file. PROTOCOL A-17. Raka and Nadira exchanged a look. Nadira opened the file. There were no tables. No charts. Only a few sentences. Employee Categories: A — Retained. B — Promoted. C — Transferred. D — Administratively deactivated. Raka stared at the screen. “Deactivated?” Nadira nodded. “That isn’t a standard personnel term.” They read further. Under the categories were several indicators: Loyalty. Influence. Compliance. Information access. Disruption potential. Raka felt a wave of unease. “This isn’t a performance evaluation.” “No.” “It’s an assessment of people.” Nadira nodded. She scrolled down. Then stopped. There was a name. HENDRA PRATAMA — CATEGORY D. Raka froze. “Open it.” Nadira opened the details. Beside Hendra’s name was a single note: Disruption potential: HIGH. Below it: Information access: EXTENSIVE. Then: Recommendation: REMOVE FROM SYSTEM. Raka stared at the screen. His chest felt tight. “Remove…” Nadira said nothing. Raka pointed at the name. “This isn’t a transfer.” “No.” “It wasn’t a resignation.” “No.” “Then what is it?” Nadira looked at him. “Purging.” Raka fell silent. Nadira scrolled down again. There were dozens of names. Some were still working. Some had been transferred. Some had resigned. Some were no longer recorded. Then Raka saw a name that made his body go rigid. DARMAWAN ADINATA. His father. Category: D. Note: Disruption potential: VERY HIGH. Raka could not speak. Nadira looked at him. “Raka…” She pointed to the bottom. There was a note. Priority: High. Date: September 17, 2020. The same date as his father’s resignation. Raka closed his eyes. For years, he had believed his father had chosen to leave. Believed his father was tired. Believed his father was disappointed. Believed the decision had been a personal choice. It turned out all of that might have been a lie. Nadira spoke slowly: “Now do you understand why I said this was bigger than corruption?” Raka opened his eyes. “If this data is true…” Nadira stared at the screen. “If this data is true, this isn’t ordinary corruption.” “Then what is it?” Nadira looked at Raka. Then she looked back at the screen filled with the names of people who had been treated like numbers for years. Her voice was low. “This is a power system.” They left the coffee shop at 10:18 p.m. The rain had stopped. Raka stood on the sidewalk. Nadira walked several steps ahead of him. “Tomorrow we need to find out who created A-17.” Raka nodded. “We?” Nadira stopped. “If you still want to continue.” Raka looked at her. “I’ve come too far to stop.”
Nadira smiled faintly. “Good.”
They walked toward their respective vehicles.
But before Raka opened his car door,
Nadira called out to him. “Raka.”
He turned.
“Yes?”
“Don’t trust anyone who says the system can’t be touched.”
“Why?”
Nadira looked at the government building standing dark in the distance.
“Because a system that truly can’t be touched…”
She stopped.
“…doesn’t need to threaten the people who try to touch it.”
Raka fell silent.
His phone vibrated.
A message came in.
Unknown number.
Don’t bring Nadira into this.
Raka stared at the message.
Then a second message appeared.
She’s tried before.
Raka looked up.
Nadira was still standing several yards away.
For the first time, Raka realized something.
He wasn’t the only one being watched.
They had known about Nadira long before tonight.
And perhaps their meeting was no coincidence.