Story code: ST-001295
Part 3: The Network Hotline
Leo did not lower his mobile phone. He pressed the speaker button, and the steady dial tone of the Apex Podcast Network corporate hotline filled the room.
Arthur took a step forward, his hand clawing at Leo’s sleeve. “Hang up the phone, Leo. You don’t know what you’re doing. This isn’t just about a podcast; this is about our family’s standing.”
“I am protecting our standing,” Leo said, his voice flat. He stepped backward, keeping the digital mixing console between himself and his uncle. “If someone has your archives, the network security team can isolate the leak before it spreads.”
Arthur’s face flushed a deep red. He turned to me, his voice sharp and demanding. “Toby, shut down the main power. Unplug the routing rack. I know you have manual overrides.”
I kept my hands resting flat on the desk, away from the power switches. “The master server will log an unscheduled power interruption as a hardware failure, Arthur. It automatically flags the shift manager. I can’t do that.”
“I will pay for the hardware!” Arthur shouted. He lunged across the corner of the mixing board, his arm stretching toward the master power strip mounted on the wall rack behind my chair.
I leaned back, blocking the rack with my shoulder. Leo quickly spoke into his phone as the line connected. “Yes, this is Leo in Control Room A. I need to report an active security threat. We have an extortion claim on today’s episode.”
Arthur froze, his hand inches from my shoulder. His gaze darted from the phone in Leo’s hand to the digital timer on the wall, which now read 3:49 PM. The upload progress bar on the primary monitor crawled to eighty-five percent.
“This is compliance,” a calm voice answered from the phone’s speaker. “Identify the nature of the threat, please.”
“We have a guest alleging a blackmail attempt,” Leo said, looking directly at Arthur. “They are threatening to release private financial documents if we proceed with the 4:00 PM broadcast.”
“Cancel the call!” Arthur barked, his voice losing its TV-host polish. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the glossy 8×10 headshot, and slammed it down onto the mixing console, right over the channel faders. “It’s right here! The proof is right here! But we don’t need corporate involved. Leo, tell them it was a mistake!”
The compliance officer spoke again. “We are initiating a standard tracing protocol. Please provide the sender’s mobile number and the exact time the message was received. We will coordinate with carrier security to locate the source.”
Arthur’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He stared at his own phone, which was gripped tightly in his right hand. He slid the device into his pocket, his knuckles twitching.
“Arthur, give them the number,” Leo said, holding out his hand.
Arthur stepped away from the console, his back hitting the sound-dampening panels on the wall. “No,” he whispered, his eyes scanning the room. “No, we aren’t doing that.”
“We need the number to trace the threat, Arthur,” Leo repeated, taking a step closer to his uncle.
The compliance officer’s voice cut through the studio. “If the guest refuses to provide the source data, network policy requires us to flag the broadcast as an unverified internal risk. We will freeze the program file at 3:55 PM for manual quarantine.”
Arthur looked at the countdown timer. It read 3:51 PM. He looked at the glossy photo lying on the console, then at the phone in Leo’s hand. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.