Security cameras can show what is happening in the corridors, but they cannot see into the depths of the human heart. I’m the security manager at the Ali Grand Hotel, watching the monitors every night. I’ve seen the bureau chief sneak into Room 906 in the dead of night, a golf club smash open a woman’s door, and that woman covered in blood insisting she was “fine.” My name is Hu Bufan. Everything on those screens has nothing to do with me, and yet somehow everything to do with me. One woman started calling me big brother, one director wants to come after someone close to me, and one boss told me, “A young man like you shouldn’t be stuck working security.” Beyond the screens, someone is waiting to recognize my face. Can I still walk away?
