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AI Philanthropist
墨書 Inktalez
"Mr. Li, this is no coincidence." I stared intently at the glaring data on the screen. "In the past three years, thirteen wealthy individuals have died unexpectedly, and each one donated to the same foundation within 48 hours before their death. The amounts ranged from thirty million to fifty million."
"You mean..." Mr. Li's voice trembled slightly.
"Yes, the next target has already been identified." I pulled up the latest transfer records. "Fang Li donated fifty million just two days ago." After a few seconds of silence, I took a deep breath and continued, "Three years ago, my father also had an accident 48 hours after making a transfer. The police said it was an accident, but in the document bag he left behind..."
The memories of that rainy night surged back. My father's last phone call echoed in my ears: "Xiao Zhang, Dad has discovered something strange. If..." Then the call abruptly ended.
This transformed me from an ordinary financial journalist into a relentless seeker of truth as a Digital Detective. Now, Fang Li's last donation was made just 48 hours before his suicide. Fifty million donated to the Benevolent Heart, Saving the World Foundation. This should have been a heartfelt farewell. But as a reporter who had covered numerous cases of wealthy individuals committing suicide, I immediately sensed something off—this amount was completely different from his previous donation patterns.
"Mr. Li, I want to postpone Fang Li's obituary." I turned to the editor-in-chief of the finance section. "There’s something wrong with this donation data."
"What do you mean?" Mr. Li set down his coffee.
"First, the amount. Fang Li had always been restrained in his donations, never exceeding twenty million. Second, the timing. Why 48 hours before? That's too much of a coincidence." Most importantly... I pulled up another document. "Look at this data model."
"I arranged the timelines of all the death cases together, like piecing together a torn photograph. Gradually, a terrifying pattern emerged: each 'accident' seemed meticulously designed by some invisible hand. And all the victims had made astonishing donations shortly before their deaths. This isn't a record of charity; it's clearly a death list."
"Their AI system claims to accurately predict those in need of help. The list of beneficiaries published every quarter has an astonishing accuracy rate. But have you noticed? Before they announce their predicted list, they always receive a large donation ranging from thirty million to fifty million. And then, on average 40 to 50 hours later, one of these donors..."
"Has an incident?" Mr. Li frowned.
I nodded slightly. "Twelve have risen. Fang Li is the thirteenth." As I spoke, my hands trembled slightly. Behind these numbers were vibrant lives, and I understood the pain of losing a loved one better than anyone else.
The office fell into silence. Outside, the sky was overcast, with dark clouds hanging low. Mr. Li hesitated to speak; he was one of the few who knew about my father's situation.
"Xiao Zhang, if we dig deeper into this..."
"I have to investigate," I interrupted him. "Not for the news, but for those who might still be alive."
"Is this AI system from the Foundation really that powerful?" Mr. Li pondered.
Opening the Foundation's official website, the photo of founder Chen Ci came into view. This former AI scientist had transformed into a philanthropist, revolutionizing traditional charity models with intelligent algorithms. The media hailed her as "the angel who conveys warmth through data."
In her most recent public speech, she stated, "AI makes our charity more precise and efficient. Every penny can help those who need it most."
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