"The Face That Lied"

 

The office hallway smelled of burnt coffee, printer ink — and fresh blood.

Inspector Daley stood over the crumpled body of Roland Pierce, CEO of PierceTech Solutions, lying face-down on the polished marble floor of his glass-walled executive room. A silver letter opener — narrow, sharp, and stained deep red — lay on the ground just beside his limp hand.

Standing nearby, in complete shock, was an office worker named Thomas Ridge. His shirt was soaked in blood. The very same blood. The weapon was found inches from him. His fingers still bore a light smear of it.

"We found him like this," a young officer explained to Daley. "Everyone says Thomas was the only one in the room. No sign of forced entry. Surveillance confirms he went in... no one else followed. And—"

"And he was holding the knife?" Daley asked grimly.

"Yes, sir."

Thomas suddenly broke down, shouting as two officers held him firmly, “I didn’t kill him! I swear I didn’t! He was already dead when I turned him over—someone planted that knife in my hand! You have to believe me!”

No one did. Not with blood on his chest. Not with a motive.

A few days earlier, multiple complaints had emerged — Mr. Pierce had berated Thomas in front of the entire office. Harsh words. Public humiliation.

That was all the prosecution would need.

, ,  

Far away, in a quiet city apartment, Zane Faulkner leaned back on a leather couch, lazily flipping through a book titled “The Philosophy of Lies.” His long black overcoat hung casually on a coat rack nearby. The afternoon light filtered through half-drawn blinds, casting a golden haze over the room.

Eli, pacing with a coffee mug, frowned. “You ever think of cleaning this place?”

“I did,” Zane replied, not looking up. “Then I remembered — entropy is nature’s way of making things interesting.”

Eli rolled his eyes. “You call two-day-old noodles on the windowsill interesting?”

“They’re a science experiment now,” Zane smirked.

Before Eli could respond with a lecture, a knock came at the door. It wasn’t loud, but it had the rhythm of someone with refined manners.

Zane raised an eyebrow. “That’s either a butler, or a lawyer.”

The man who entered looked like both.

Tall, neatly dressed, and composed, he removed his hat as he stepped in. His voice was calm, clipped. “Mr. Faulkner, my name is Adrian Vale. I’m representing a man named Thomas Ridge. I believe he’s been... wrongly accused of murder.”

Zane closed his book.

“Sit,” he said simply, his voice now serious. “Start from the beginning.”

   

Zane and Eli sat in front of a thick glass barrier inside the central holding facility. On the other side, Thomas Ridge looked utterly destroyed — dark circles, trembling fingers, a haunted gaze.

“Mr. Ridge,” Zane began, voice calm, “I’m not a lawyer. I’m not the police. But if you’re telling the truth, I’ll know.”

Thomas nodded weakly. “I didn’t kill him. I hated him, yes. But I would never—”

Zane raised a finger. “Hate can be honest. Murder... requires silence.”

He leaned forward. “When did you enter the office?”

“Ten minutes before lunch. I had reports to deliver. He locked the door behind me. Said he didn’t want interruptions.”

“And when was he last seen alive by anyone else?”

“Probably right before I went in. He was yelling at Maya — one of the interns.”

Zane nodded. “And when you found him bleeding... what did you touch?”

Thomas looked confused. “I—I tried to roll him over. I touched his arm... and the knife was just there. I never grabbed it. But then someone shouted behind me and—”

Zane turned to Eli. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“He never said he picked up the knife. Only that he touched his arm.”

“Yeah, but the blood’s on him,” Eli insisted. “And he was alone in the room.”

Zane’s smile was faint. “We’ll see.”

    

They arrived at PierceTech the next morning. The building was sterile, glassy, and humming with low-level tension. Everyone avoided eye contact.

The conference room was sealed with yellow tape. A blood smear still marked the handle.

Eli walked beside Zane, glancing at his notes. “So we have a locked office, one witness, one dead CEO, a knife with his prints... and no signs of forced entry. Case closed.”

Zane stopped walking.

“Tell me, Eli — if the room was locked, and he never left, who opened it after the murder?”

Eli blinked. “Security. They broke the lock when they saw blood.”

“Exactly,” Zane said. “So how did the killer leave?”

They met with four people that day:

Maya Lin, the intern who was last yelled at by the victim. Nervous, soft-spoken, eyes watery.

Gareth Dean, a senior employee, who claimed Thomas was always unstable. “He snapped,” Gareth said. “We all saw it coming.”

Colin Pierce, the victim’s younger brother, quiet and intense. “Thomas hated Roland,” he muttered.

Eva Sharpe, a consultant and old friend of Roland. Polished, professional — and strangely cold.

Each gave a story. Each had a timeline.

Zane noted one thing: all four mentioned Thomas... but no one mentioned leaving the floor before the scream.

' 

The next stop: a glass-walled lab full of digital forensics.

Lyra was in a long white coat, hair tied in a high bun, goggles on her forehead. She looked up — and instantly frowned.

“Oh God. Not you again.”

“Lyra,” Zane said, grinning, “always a pleasure to see a mind sharper than mine.”

“Flattery doesn’t excuse surprise visits.”

Eli raised a hand. “We brought pastries.”

Lyra snatched the box. “You may live.”

She turned serious as she examined the evidence — Thomas’s shirt, the knife, high-res photos of the crime scene.

“Blood spatter is off,” she said after a moment. “This isn’t transfer blood. It’s splashed — from above.”

Zane tilted his head. “Meaning?”

“Someone threw it. On him. After the wound.”

“Which means,” Zane whispered, “the killer... painted him guilty.”

Lyra looked at him carefully. “You already suspected that, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

  

As the sun set, Zane and Eli sat in the car.

“You still think he’s innocent?” Eli asked, frustrated.

Zane stared at the building. “No... I know he’s innocent. I just don’t know why he was chosen to take the fall.”

Eli shook his head. “Everyone’s story matches.”

Zane smiled faintly. “That’s the problem. Too clean. No contradiction means they agreed — not remembered.”

He looked back at the folder.

“Four names keep coming up. Maya. Gareth. Colin. Eva.”

“And you think one of them did it?”

Zane’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” he said quietly. “I think one of them planned it.”

    The next morning, Zane sat across from Eli in the apartment’s kitchen, sipping cold tea.

“Let’s test a theory,” he said calmly.

“Another theory?” Eli groaned. “You’ve already interviewed everyone twice.”

“That’s the point,” Zane said. “They’ve had two chances... and yet no one contradicted themselves.”

He placed four photos on the table — Maya, Gareth, Colin, and Eva.

“All four told us they never left the office floor before the scream,” Zane said. “But I found something strange in the building log.”

He held up a printout. “One keycard was scanned at the basement parking exactly four minutes before the scream.”

Eli leaned forward. “Whose card?”

“Eva Sharpe.”

“But... she said she was on the floor the entire time.”

Zane smiled. “Exactly. So why lie about that?”

   

Back in Lyra’s lab, Zane laid out the new finding.

She raised an eyebrow. “Eva Sharpe? I ran her shoes through the blood detection spectrum. No traces. She was never near the body.”

“Unless she changed her shoes,” Zane said.

Lyra opened a sealed box — new prints from the cleaner’s report. “We found faint traces of adhesive on the floor — near Roland’s desk. Like something had been taped underneath.”

She pulled up a UV scan. “It matches the base of the knife’s handle. It wasn’t dropped — it was planted.”

Zane leaned in, eyes narrowing. “So someone taped the weapon under the desk... stabbed Roland... threw blood on Thomas... and triggered the scene just as Eva came back upstairs.”

Eli’s jaw dropped. “She staged the perfect frame job.”

“Almost,” Zane said. “But only almost.”

   

Later that day, Zane asked to meet each of the four suspects again — this time, privately.

He asked Maya if she had ever seen Thomas lose control.

“No,” she said. “He was quiet. A bit shy.”

He asked Gareth the same question.

“Oh yes,” Gareth nodded. “Thomas once punched a file cabinet during a meeting.”

Then Zane asked Colin if he remembered what Thomas was wearing that day.

“A white shirt,” Colin replied without hesitation.

Eva, when asked, said, “A blue one, I think?”

Zane leaned back in his chair.

Something had shifted.

He pulled Eli aside in the hallway.

“You see it now?”

Eli looked overwhelmed. “I... I’m not sure what I see anymore.”

Zane smiled faintly. “Then it’s time I show everyone.”

   

The next morning, all employees were called into the main conference room. The lights were dimmed. The glass cabin where Roland Pierce had died stood just behind them — still stained with the faint outline of dried blood.

Zane stood near the center, hands folded behind his back, his voice calm.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “This won't take long.”

He turned slowly, scanning the room.

“When a man is murdered in a locked office, and another man is found with blood on his hands, we call it open-and-shut. But some things — small things — whispered a different story.”

He pointed to the room behind them.

“No signs of struggle. No blood splatter near the initial wound. But a trail... a direction... a purpose. This wasn’t rage. It was strategy.”

Eli stood in a corner, wide-eyed as Zane continued.

“Let’s start with motive. The accused, Thomas, had no gain from Roland’s death. He was humiliated, yes — but not cut off from opportunity. Others... however... did have something to lose. Or gain.”

Zane now walked slowly, his coat swaying behind him.

“Four names keep returning. Four people were constantly near the victim. Four people told us where they were. And each of them... lied in some way.”

He turned toward the group.

“But only one of them planned the murder.”

 

Zane pointed to the whiteboard where photos of the four were pinned — Maya, Gareth, Colin, Eva.

“Let’s walk through it, shall we?”

He stepped to Maya’s photo.

“Maya was the last to be yelled at. But she didn’t lie. She admitted she left crying. No contradiction.”

Next, Gareth.

“Gareth exaggerated Thomas’s instability. Why? Maybe to strengthen the frame job... or maybe just to sound important.”

He paused. “But not enough to kill.”

Then Colin.

“Colin knew exactly what Thomas wore — suspiciously well for someone who claimed he didn’t speak to him that day.”

Eli frowned.

“And finally,” Zane turned to Eva’s photo. “Eva said she never left the floor. But the keycard says otherwise. She left... four minutes before the scream. Just enough time to plant something.”

A gasp echoed in the room.

Zane walked to the window. “But here’s what sealed it.”

He turned.

“When I asked her again what Thomas wore... she gave a different answer.”

Another gasp.

Zane’s voice dropped.

“A woman obsessed with perfection... would never misremember something she planned. She didn’t forget. She was guessing.”

He stepped into the center.

“The killer... is Eva Sharpe.”

   

The room was still.

Eva didn’t move. Her hands tightened slightly on the chair’s edge.

Zane kept speaking.

“She hated Roland. Because he was about to cut her out of the company’s future. She’d worked behind him for years, and he was planning to sell — without giving her shares.”

He pulled out the building logs.

“She left early, planted the knife with tape, waited until Roland was in position, then stabbed him — quick, clean, silent. She tossed the blood from a sealed pouch she’d kept in her coat — onto Thomas. When the scream rang out, she was already back upstairs. Calm. Innocent.”

Eli’s mouth was open. “But how did you know?”

Zane smiled faintly.

“Her face. She was the only one who never flinched when I mentioned blood. Because she knew where it came from.”

 

Later, as police escorted Eva out in handcuffs, Thomas stood by the glass cabin — stunned and free.

Outside the office building, Eli and Zane walked toward the car.

“You saved him, Zane,” Eli said. “We were about to let an innocent man rot.”

Zane gave a light nod, fixing his coat collar.

Eli shook his head. “Honestly... how did you know? From the start?”

Zane paused.

“Eli,” he said softly, “faces talk to me.”

He looked up toward the foggy sky.

“And hers was just a little too calm... for someone who’d seen death.”

The End.