Ari woke up earlier than usual. Not because of the alarm—but because of an unfinished dream. A voice calling him from a hallway he'd never seen before.
His black coffee was still half-full when Sekar knocked on the door, tension on her face.
"Mr. Ari, the man from last night… he's gone."
Ari set his cup down slowly. "How?"
"He left before dawn. Last CCTV caught him near the mosque. Then—nothing."
Silence.
Ari stared at the folder on his desk. The flash drive was safe. But the man—the key witness, perhaps the only one—was now missing without a trace.
"Call the two journalists we can trust," Ari said. "And don't mention the documents."
Sekar nodded quickly and left.
Ari stood. On his office wall hung certificates, plaques, and framed photos of past clients. But one frame always stood highest above the rest—a photo of his father.
"You were right," he whispered. "Justice isn't about winning… it's about enduring."
His phone rang. An unknown number. He answered.
"If you keep meddling," said a man's voice, calm and low, "you won't just lose your clients… you'll lose everyone you care about."
Click. The line went dead.
Ari didn't flinch. Only his eyes changed—colder now. Focused.
This was no longer about a viral case.This was about who dared to speak… and who would be silenced.
That morning, Ari's law firm looked as ordinary as ever. Client traffic, copy machines humming, stacks of files. But in Ari's office, the air felt different—quieter, heavier.
Sekar returned, holding two names.
"These are the journalists you asked for. One's with an independent outlet, the other used to cover legal affairs."
Ari scanned the names. He recognized one—Dimas, a former investigative reporter who had once exposed a ministry corruption scandal. After that, Dimas vanished from the media world.
"Get Dimas first," Ari said. "But not by message. Find him in person. Tell him… this is about life and death."
Sekar nodded and hurried out.
Ari reopened his laptop, diving deeper into the flash drive. One folder he hadn't opened the night before caught his eye: PINTU_04.
He clicked.
A video played. A trembling voice. Hidden camera footage. The voice of a judge—agreeing to something with a figure whose face was never shown.
"Verdict: not guilty. Under one condition… Ari Pratomo stays out."
He paused the video. His breath caught.
His name. Spoken in a meeting between a judge and someone unnamed.
There was no more time to wait.
He stood, grabbed his coat, and locked the files.
When he opened the door, a woman was already standing there.
"I know I don't have an appointment," she said softly, "but you're the only one who can help me."
Her eyes were red. In her hand, she held a baby toy.
Ari offered her a seat. He pulled a box of tissues from his drawer and handed one to her, calmly.
"What's your name, ma'am?" he asked softly.
"Ratna," she said. "I'm the mother of a baby whose father left before she was born. And… I'm being accused of kidnapping my own child."
Ari didn't respond right away. He knew that when someone showed up without an appointment carrying wounds like hers, there was always more truth than what was spoken.
"Who's accusing you?" he asked, opening his notebook.
"My husband's family. They're respected people. The police believed them immediately—without hearing me out."
Ratna's tears fell silently, but her tone stayed strong. She opened her bag and handed him a police summons and a copy of her child's birth certificate.
Ari read carefully. Something didn't add up. The certificate date and the report date contradicted each other—too neatly, like someone had planned the confusion.
"Mrs. Ratna," he said gently, "I'll help you. But I need to know… has anyone tried to threaten or warn you?"
She nodded. "Two days ago, someone came to my house. They said, 'If you go to that lawyer, you'll lose more than your child.'"
Ari closed the folder slowly.
His name again. Spoken by people who didn't just want to silence the truth—but to sever the bond between a mother and her child.
And that… was beyond unforgivable.
After Ratna left, Ari sat in silence for a few minutes. His mind raced, trying to connect two names: the man with the flash drive who had vanished, and now Ratna—a victim being pushed toward him.
Too coincidental.Too calculated.
He opened his investigation laptop and began searching public records on Ratna's husband's family. Her father-in-law: Ir. Herman Widjaya, a construction magnate and known donor to several local officials.
Ari typed fast. He found an old news article: "Herman Group Under Review for Alleged Project Document Forgery." But the case vanished without a trace. Never reached trial.
He bookmarked the link, then cross-referenced it with a name found in PINTU_04: Judge R.B. Wirawan—the very same voice he had heard in the hidden video recording.
His suspicion deepened: Ratna's family might be part of a larger network—one that had long manipulated the law through familial ties and elite influence.
His phone buzzed. A message from Sekar:
"Dimas is ready. Safe location. Meet us at 4 PM."
Ari grabbed his coat and a slim folder containing flash drive copies. As he stepped out of the office, he paused to glance up at the darkening Jakarta sky.
"If all of this is coordinated," he murmured, "then I'm standing in the middle of a battlefield."