PART25
I read the message again.
If you refuse the gift, someone else will inherit the blame.
Agent Mercer looked at Rachel Donovan.
“They’re trying to force a choice.”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
“They’re trying to control the narrative.”
She turned toward me.
“Carter, from this point forward, you do nothing without telling us first.”
I nodded.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
An emergency meeting began just after midnight.
The forged purchase agreement was projected onto a large screen.
Every page had been examined.
Every signature compared.
Every metadata field analyzed.
Then the cybercrime specialist noticed something unusual.
“Look at the document properties.”
He enlarged the hidden metadata.
Author:
A. Whitmore
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“No idea.”
The creation timestamp was only six hours old.
The software license used to generate it belonged to a law office in Minneapolis.
Rachel frowned.
“Can we identify which one?”
The analyst nodded.
“If they were careless enough to leave the metadata intact…”
“…probably.”
By sunrise, investigators had their answer.
The software license belonged to a small legal services company.
Agents executed a search warrant before the office opened.
The computers were still there.
So were the servers.
The owner, a contract attorney named Daniel Pierce, looked genuinely confused when questioned.
“I didn’t prepare those documents.”
“Then who did?” Mercer asked.
Pierce reviewed his access logs.
“My credentials were used remotely last night.”
“You were hacked?”
“Either hacked…”
“…or someone inside my office copied my authentication token.”
The forensic team recovered surveillance footage.
At 9:13 p.m. the previous evening, a woman wearing a delivery uniform had entered the office.
She stayed less than four minutes.
Long enough to leave a package.
Long enough to place something beneath the receptionist’s desk.
A tiny wireless device.
“It wasn’t a delivery,” Agent Ortiz said.
“It was an intrusion.”
Back at headquarters, Mercer gathered the team.
“They’ve made two mistakes.”
He pointed at the screen.
“First, they left metadata.”
“Second, they contacted Carter directly.”
Rachel smiled slightly.
“They think they’re setting the trap.”
“But they’re giving us opportunities.”
I looked at them.
“What are you thinking?”
Mercer answered.
“We let them believe the transfer is still possible.”
“You mean… pretend?”
He nodded.
“We control every bank involved.”
“We control the legal filings.”
“And now…”
“…we control the timeline.”
For the first time since the investigation began, we weren’t reacting.
We were planning.
Later that afternoon, Ethan completed another review of the Ashcroft transactions.
“Carter.”
“You should see this.”
He highlighted every transfer connected to my parents’ money.
It didn’t stop with the land purchase.
The same funds had paid architectural consultants.
Engineering firms.
Environmental surveys.
Construction contractors.
I looked at one invoice.
My heart stopped.
The architectural firm listed on the document wasn’t mine.
It was a company that had copied my branding almost perfectly.
The logo.
The typography.
Even the website address differed by only one letter.
“They cloned your business,” Ethan said quietly.
“Anyone checking quickly would think you designed the entire project.”
“So they weren’t just framing me now…”
“…they’ve been building the frame for months.”
As evening approached, Melissa Grant received a call from one of her confidential sources.
She hurried into the operations center.
“I’ve got something.”
“What?” Mercer asked.
“The estate.”
“The one purchased with Carter’s parents’ money.”
“They’ve started moving equipment out.”
“How much?”
“Truck after truck.”
“When?”
“Right now.”
Mercer immediately turned to the tactical commander.
“If they’re emptying the property…”
“…they know we’re getting close.”
The commander picked up his radio.
“Federal search teams are mobilizing.”
Before he could issue another order, every phone in the room vibrated at once.
The same anonymous message appeared on every screen.
You’re searching the wrong property.
Thirty seconds later, a second message arrived.
This one included a live GPS coordinate.
Not for the estate.
But for an abandoned warehouse nearly sixty miles away.
No explanation.
No demand.
Just a location.
Mercer studied the coordinates.
“They’ve never volunteered information before.”
Rachel looked at the blinking map.
“Which means one of two things.”
“It’s a diversion…”
“…or someone inside the organization has decided to help us.”
To Be Continued…
PART26
The GPS coordinates remained on every screen.
Latitude.
Longitude.
An abandoned warehouse outside Duluth.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just a blinking location.
Agent Mercer looked around the operations center.
“Opinions.”
The tactical commander answered first.
“It’s a trap.”
Rachel Donovan nodded.
“Probably.”
Melissa Grant disagreed.
“If they wanted to ambush us, why warn us at all?”
Ethan leaned over the map.
“What if they’re not warning us?”
“What if they’re distracting us?”
Mercer listened without interrupting.
Then he made his decision.
“We’re treating it as both.”
Within twenty minutes, two separate operations were underway.
A tactical team moved toward the abandoned warehouse.
Another team quietly surrounded the secluded estate purchased with money linked to my parents’ home sale.
No flashing lights.
No sirens.
No announcements.
Only surveillance.
“If they expect us to choose one location,” Mercer said, “we’re choosing both.”
I remained in the mobile command vehicle with Ethan, Rachel, and Melissa.
Dozens of live camera feeds covered the monitors.
The warehouse appeared deserted.
Broken windows.
Collapsed loading dock.
Rusted freight doors.
The estate looked very different.
Luxury SUVs.
Construction equipment.
Security cameras mounted on temporary poles.
Yet something felt wrong.
“There aren’t enough workers,” I said.
Rachel looked at the screen.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
The buildings were too large.
The project too expensive.
But only a handful of people were visible.
Almost as if everyone else had already left.
At 9:17 p.m., the warehouse team entered.
Room by room, they cleared the building.
Empty offices.
Abandoned machinery.
Stacks of old pallets.
Nothing.
Then one agent stopped near the rear wall.
“Hold on.”
The thermal camera showed an unexpected heat signature.
Not behind the wall.
Beneath it.
“Ground-penetrating radar,” Mercer ordered.
Minutes later, the scan confirmed it.
A hidden chamber.
Meanwhile, surveillance at the estate captured something unexpected.
One black SUV exited through the rear gate.
Then another.
Then a third.
Each traveled in a different direction.
“They’re dispersing,” Agent Ortiz observed over the radio.
“They’re trying to avoid being followed as a group.”
Mercer didn’t hesitate.
“Track all three.”
“Do not stop them.”
“Not yet.”
Back at the warehouse, agents broke through the concrete floor.
A narrow staircase descended into darkness.
The air below was cool and dry.
Flashlights swept across rows of metal shelving.
Every shelf held identical gray archive boxes.
Hundreds of them.
An evidence technician opened the nearest box.
Inside were neatly organized folders.
Investor agreements.
Wire confirmations.
Passport copies.
Driver’s licenses.
Family photographs.
Another box contained hard drives.
Laptops.
External backup devices.
“It isn’t a hideout,” the technician whispered.
“It’s an archive.”
Mercer looked around the underground room.
“They kept everything.”
As more boxes were opened, one discovery stopped everyone.
A shelf labeled:
REYNOLDS FAMILY
I felt my chest tighten.
The technician carefully lifted the first file.
Inside were documents spanning nearly sixteen years.
My parents’ mortgage records.
Chloe’s college transcripts.
Holiday photographs downloaded from social media.
Copies of my architectural licenses.
Even newspaper clippings about projects I had completed.
Melissa looked horrified.
“They weren’t looking for victims.”
“They were building profiles.”
Rachel slowly turned another page.
Every major event in our family’s lives had been logged.
When my father retired.
When Chloe changed jobs.
When I bought the lake house.
Beside many entries were handwritten notes.
High trust within community.
Debt-free assets increasing.
Potential referral influence.
It wasn’t just surveillance.
It was strategy.
Then Agent Ortiz called from the estate surveillance team.
“Nathan.”
Her voice was unusually tense.
“We’ve got movement.”
“What kind?”
“One vehicle didn’t leave.”
“It just entered an underground garage beneath the main building.”
Mercer looked at the blueprints recovered from the construction permits.
“There isn’t supposed to be an underground garage.”
“There isn’t.”
“At least…”
“…not on the official plans.”
He looked at me.
Then at the tactical commander.
“They’ve been hiding something beneath the estate.”
Before anyone could respond, the lights inside the hidden archive room suddenly flickered.
Every monitor connected to the recovered computer servers powered on by themselves.
A single sentence appeared across every screen.
You’ve finally found our records.
A second line slowly appeared beneath it.
Now ask yourselves why we wanted you to.
The screens went dark.
The room fell silent.
For the first time, it seemed possible that the warehouse had never been hidden at all.
It had been waiting for us.
To Be Continued…
PART27
No one touched the recovered computers.
The message lingered in everyone’s mind.
You’ve finally found our records.
Now ask yourselves why we wanted you to.
Agent Mercer broke the silence.
“Disconnect every device.”
“Forensic imaging only.”
“No one opens a single file until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Evidence technicians immediately began sealing the servers inside anti-static containers.
If the archive had been left for us intentionally…
Every document inside could be genuine.
Or every document could be a carefully constructed lie.
At the mobile command center, the first reports arrived from the warehouse.
“Estimated archive boxes?”
“Eight hundred and twelve.”
“Hard drives?”
“One hundred forty-three.”
“Laptops?”
“Thirty-one.”
Rachel Donovan looked at the inventory list.
“This is enough evidence for dozens of prosecutions.”
Mercer didn’t look convinced.
“Or enough false evidence to destroy dozens of innocent people.”
The room fell quiet.
Until now, we had assumed the organization’s greatest weapon was money.
Perhaps it was information.
Meanwhile, the surveillance team remained focused on the estate.
The three departing SUVs continued traveling in different directions.
One headed north toward the Canadian border.
Another entered Minneapolis.
The third unexpectedly stopped at a small airport.
Agent Ortiz radioed the update.
“The passengers aren’t boarding a commercial flight.”
“What are they doing?” Mercer asked.
“They’re transferring luggage to a private aircraft.”
Rachel immediately contacted federal aviation authorities.
“Can we stop it?”
“Not yet,” Mercer replied.
“We need probable cause connected to the passengers—not just the airplane.”
Every minute mattered.
Back inside the hidden archive, technicians opened a box marked:
INTERNAL OPERATIONS
Unlike the family files, these folders contained organizational documents.
Meeting agendas.
Expense reports.
Training manuals.
One binder was labeled:
Behavioral Recruitment Guide
Melissa flipped carefully through its pages.
Each chapter described ways to identify emotionally vulnerable people.
Recent retirees.
Families grieving a loss.
Communities with strong social trust.
Church volunteers.
Veterans.
Small business owners.
Every section ended with the same instruction.
Never sell an investment.
Sell belonging.
I felt a knot form in my stomach.
My parents hadn’t been convinced by spreadsheets.
They had been convinced by people they trusted.
An analyst examining one of the recovered servers called out.
“Agent Mercer.”
“I’ve found a secure directory.”
“Can you open it?”
“No.”
“It’s encrypted.”
“Folder name?”
The analyst enlarged the screen.
Everyone leaned closer.
The directory contained only three words.
Project Evergreen Archive
Mercer frowned.
“We’ve seen Evergreen before.”
Ethan nodded.
“Evergreen Capital Trust.”
“One of the shell companies.”
The analyst shook his head.
“I don’t think this refers to the company.”
“What do you mean?”
He pointed at the folder’s creation date.
Twenty-one years earlier.
Years before Evergreen Capital Trust had even existed.
Rachel looked thoughtful.
“So Evergreen wasn’t just a company name.”
“It was a long-term project.”
Just after midnight, Agent Ortiz’s voice crackled over the radio.
“Nathan.”
“We have visual confirmation.”
“Of what?”
“The underground garage.”
The tactical drone had slipped through a partially opened service entrance.
Its camera transmitted grainy images from below the estate.
Luxury vehicles.
Crates.
Industrial shelving.
Then…
A reinforced steel door.
Mounted beside it was a biometric scanner.
Above the scanner hung a polished brass plaque.
The drone zoomed in.
The inscription became clear.
EVERGREEN
No company logo.
No address.
Just one word.
Mercer stared at the screen.
“The project wasn’t archived.”
He looked around the command vehicle.
“It never ended.”
Before anyone could speak, the drone’s video suddenly froze.
Static flooded the monitor.
Then one final image appeared before the signal died.
Someone was standing inside the underground facility.
Looking directly into the drone’s camera.
An older man with silver hair.
Calm.
Expressionless.
He slowly raised one hand…
…and switched off the lights.
To Be Continued…
PART28
The drone feed went black.
No static.
No warning.
Just darkness.
Agent Ortiz tried reconnecting.
“Signal lost.”
“Battery?” Mercer asked.
“No.”
“The transmission was manually interrupted.”
“He knew exactly where the drone was.”
Mercer stared at the blank monitor.
“Then he wanted us to see him.”
The tactical commander stepped into the mobile command vehicle.
“We have two options.”
“Go in tonight.”
“Or secure the perimeter and wait for daylight.”
Rachel Donovan answered immediately.
“If we rush in without understanding what’s underground, we could lose evidence.”
The commander nodded.
“And if we wait…”
“…we risk losing suspects.”
Everyone understood the dilemma.
For weeks, the organization had stayed one step ahead.
This might be the first opportunity to catch its leadership together.
Or it might be another carefully prepared trap.
Mercer made his decision.
“No full assault.”
“Not yet.”
He pointed to the estate blueprint recovered from county records.
“I want every utility line.”
“Every drainage tunnel.”
“Every fiber-optic cable.”
“If there’s an underground complex…”
“…it has to breathe.”
Engineers began overlaying public infrastructure maps with thermal imaging from the drones.
Within minutes, one analyst raised a hand.
“I’ve got something.”
A narrow service tunnel extended nearly four hundred yards beyond the estate.
Officially, it carried stormwater runoff.
Unofficially…
Its dimensions were large enough for people.
While tactical teams prepared, Ethan continued examining the recovered archive.
“Carter.”
“You need to see this.”
He held up a thin folder labeled:
Candidate Assessments
Inside were evaluation forms.
Not for investors.
For recruiters.
Each form scored people on categories like:
Trustworthiness
Community Influence
Financial Credibility
Persuasion Skills
Near the back of the folder was a familiar photograph.
Chloe.
Taken nearly seven years earlier.
Her evaluation score:
94/100
Below it, someone had typed:
Exceptional communication ability.
High public confidence.
Recommend accelerated advancement.
I kept reading.
Then my breath caught.
Another page.
My photograph.
An image from the groundbreaking ceremony of a community library I had designed.
Evaluation score:
97/100
Recommendation:
Do not recruit.
Independent decision-maker.
Low compliance risk.
Potential obstacle if family recruitment succeeds.
Melissa looked over my shoulder.
“They studied you too.”
“They decided you wouldn’t cooperate.”
“So they targeted everyone around me instead.”
Just after 2:00 a.m., Agent Ortiz received another update from the surveillance teams.
“The three SUVs.”
“What about them?” Mercer asked.
“Two were decoys.”
“They’re empty.”
“And the third?”
“It never reached the airport.”
“It entered an industrial district.”
“Then disappeared.”
“Disappeared how?”
“The vehicle drove into a distribution warehouse.”
“Only…”
“…it never came out.”
Mercer looked toward the tactical commander.
“Hidden exit?”
“Or an underground connection.”
Back at the estate, engineers completed their thermal scan.
A large heat signature stretched beneath the main building.
But that wasn’t what caught their attention.
The service tunnel connected to another underground structure nearly half a mile away.
Mercer frowned.
“What’s on the surface there?”
The analyst zoomed in on the satellite map.
A modest brick building.
White steeple.
Small parking lot.
A sign near the entrance became readable.
Evergreen Community Outreach Center
Melissa slowly lowered her pen.
“A community outreach center?”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
“A second entrance.”
The realization spread across the command vehicle.
The estate had never been isolated.
It was connected directly to a building where local families attended financial workshops, charity events, and retirement seminars.
The operation hadn’t been hiding underground.
It had been operating in plain sight.
Before Mercer could issue the next order, his secure phone vibrated.
The call came from the evidence team still processing the warehouse archive.
“Nathan…”
“What is it?”
“We’ve opened the last sealed box.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t documents.”
“It contained personal letters.”
“From who?”
A long pause followed.
Then the technician answered.
“They’re addressed to you.”
Mercer’s expression changed.
“To me?”
“No.”
The technician swallowed.
“To your father.”
Every person in the command vehicle fell silent.
The final box in the archive hadn’t been waiting for investigators.
It had been waiting…
…for the son of the agent who started the case twenty years earlier.
To Be Continued…
PART29
Agent Mercer didn’t speak for several seconds.
The only sound inside the command vehicle was the soft hum of computer equipment.
“Bring the letters here,” he finally said.
“No.”
Rachel Donovan gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
“They’re original evidence.”
“We don’t move them.”
“We examine them where they are.”
Mercer nodded.
“You’re right.”
Within minutes, the command vehicle headed back toward the warehouse.
The evidence room had been sealed since the archive was discovered.
Every box remained exactly where agents had found it.
The final container sat alone on a stainless-steel examination table.
An evidence technician carefully lifted the lid.
Inside were twelve envelopes.
Each was numbered.
Each bore the same handwritten inscription.
Special Agent Nathaniel Mercer
The handwriting matched the letter Mercer’s father had left inside the Sterling Trust archive nearly twenty years earlier.
Mercer slowly picked up the first envelope.
His hands were noticeably unsteady.
Rachel obtained authorization to open the collection.
Inside the first envelope was a single handwritten page.
It began simply:
If these letters are being opened, then I was right.
Mercer read silently for several moments before continuing aloud.
The people behind Sterling Trust never destroy everything.
They preserve enough history to rebuild.
They think in decades, not months.
The room remained silent.
His father had understood the organization far earlier than anyone realized.
The second letter contained names.
Not suspects.
Not victims.
Cities.
Duluth.
Chicago.
Cleveland.
Milwaukee.
Madison.
Minneapolis.
Beside each city was the same notation.
Community Trust Program
Melissa frowned.
“Those are all places where we’ve identified shell companies.”
Ethan looked at the map.
“They weren’t expanding randomly.”
“They were following a blueprint.”
The third letter contained something no one expected.
A hand-drawn organizational chart.
At the center was one word.
EVERGREEN
Radiating outward were circles labeled:
Charities
Legal Services
Investment Firms
Community Outreach
Education Programs
Rachel studied it carefully.
“This wasn’t just financial fraud.”
“It was an ecosystem.”
Mercer nodded.
“Every part supported every other part.”
Then they opened the fourth envelope.
Inside was an old photograph.
A conference room.
Five men.
One woman.
No names.
No date.
Only one face was immediately recognizable.
A much younger Richard Lawson.
Standing near the far end of the table.
Victor Hale stood beside him.
But what caught my attention wasn’t who was in the photograph.
It was who wasn’t.
“There are only six people,” I said.
“Owen told us there was a committee of five.”
Rachel looked closer.
“Six people.”
“One photographer.”
“No.”
Mercer slowly pointed toward the empty chair at the head of the table.
The nameplate was still visible.
It contained only a single title.
Chair
No person’s name.
Just…
Chair.
Mercer carefully opened the fifth envelope.
A cassette tape rested inside.
Labeled in his father’s handwriting.
Meeting Recording — Never Submitted
The evidence technicians immediately transferred the tape into a preservation deck.
Static filled the speakers.
Then voices.
Old.
Muffled.
Someone was presenting financial reports.
Another discussed legal structures.
Then a different voice spoke.
Calm.
Measured.
“You are all thinking too small.”
The room became perfectly still.
“We are not building companies.”
“We are building continuity.”
“If one organization fails…”
“…another will replace it.”
“If one leader disappears…”
“…another will take the chair.”
Mercer paused the recording.
“No names.”
“No introductions.”
Rachel nodded slowly.
“The Chair wasn’t necessarily one person.”
“It may have been an office.”
“A role.”
“Something that could be handed from one individual to another.”
For the first time, Richard Lawson’s testimony and Owen Keller’s testimony no longer seemed completely incompatible.
There may never have been a permanent Chairman.
But there was a permanent Chair.
A position that survived even when the people occupying it changed.
Before anyone could continue listening, Agent Ortiz rushed into the room.
“Nathan.”
“We’ve got movement at the outreach center.”
“What kind?”
“The building’s lights just came on.”
“It’s nearly three in the morning.”
Mercer immediately stood.
“Thermal imaging?”
“More than thirty heat signatures.”
“Families?”
Ortiz shook her head.
“No.”
“They’re moving in formation.”
The tactical commander looked toward Mercer.
“They’re not holding another seminar.”
Mercer’s expression hardened.
“They’re evacuating.”
He looked once more at the cassette tape resting on the evidence table.
Then toward the live drone feed from the outreach center.
After twenty years of planning…
The people behind Evergreen were finally making their move.
To Be Continued…
PART30
Every screen inside the mobile command center showed the same building.
Evergreen Community Outreach Center.
At 3:07 a.m., its parking lot—empty only minutes earlier—was filling with vehicles.
Not dozens.
Hundreds.
Black sedans.
White cargo vans.
Pickup trucks with magnetic company logos.
Each arrived separately.
Each parked in a different location.
No one appeared to know anyone else.
“They’re avoiding patterns,” Agent Ortiz said.
“They’ve trained for this.”
Mercer addressed the tactical commander.
“Seal every road within five miles.”
“No marked police vehicles.”
“No sirens.”
“If they realize we’re here too early…”
“…they’ll scatter.”
The commander immediately began issuing orders over the encrypted radio network.
State police.
Federal marshals.
County deputies.
Every available unit quietly moved into position.
Meanwhile, the cybercrime team monitored activity inside the underground network.
One by one, encrypted servers began shutting down.
“Server Three offline.”
“Server Five offline.”
“Server Nine offline.”
“They’re destroying infrastructure,” an analyst warned.
Ethan pointed at another monitor.
“Not all of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re copying data before shutting the systems down.”
“To where?”
The analyst traced the outgoing connections.
His fingers stopped moving.
“They’re not sending it overseas.”
“Then where?”
“They’re distributing encrypted copies…”
“…to dozens of locations.”
Rachel frowned.
“A dead man’s switch.”
Mercer nodded.
“Even if we seize one site…”
“…the organization survives.”
Outside, dawn was still hours away.
Snow covered the fields surrounding the outreach center.
Thermal drones circled silently overhead.
One camera captured a line of people entering through the front doors.
They carried briefcases.
Storage cases.
Locked document boxes.
No one looked frightened.
No one looked hurried.
It resembled employees arriving for work.
Melissa watched the feed.
“They’re acting like this is routine.”
Mercer answered quietly.
“Because it probably is.”
Then Agent Ortiz received another transmission.
“The service tunnel.”
“What about it?”
“We’ve got movement underground.”
The thermal display revealed a long column of people walking beneath the property.
Not toward the estate.
Away from it.
Toward the outreach center.
“They’re consolidating,” Mercer said.
“They’re bringing everyone together.”
Rachel looked at the clock.
“If they’re merging personnel and records…”
“…this may be their final evacuation.”
Just then, one of the evidence technicians rushed into the command vehicle.
“We finished processing the cassette.”
Mercer turned immediately.
“Anything important?”
The technician nodded.
“We enhanced the final thirty seconds.”
“I thought the recording ended.”
“So did we.”
He pressed play.
The familiar voices returned.
Then, after a burst of static, another voice emerged.
Older.
Calm.
Authoritative.
“If this meeting is ever discovered…”
A pause.
“…assume the Chair has already changed.”
Everyone in the vehicle became silent.
The voice continued.
“Protect the institution.”
“Never protect the individual.”
The recording ended with the sound of a chair sliding across the floor.
Nothing more.
Rachel slowly lowered her notebook.
“They planned succession from the beginning.”
“They expected investigations.”
“They expected arrests.”
Mercer looked toward the outreach center.
“Which means whoever occupies the Chair today…”
“…may not be the same person Richard Lawson served.”
At 4:02 a.m., every tactical radio crackled at once.
“Movement!”
A hidden section of the outreach center’s basement wall had opened.
Several people emerged carrying hard cases.
One of them was the silver-haired man from the surveillance photographs.
The same man who had looked directly into the drone camera beneath the estate.
Agent Ortiz zoomed in.
“Positive visual.”
“Target identified.”
Mercer took a slow breath.
“For twenty years…”
“…we’ve been chasing shadows.”
He reached for the operation order.
“Not anymore.”
Before he could give the command to move in, his secure phone vibrated.
The caller ID displayed only one word.
UNKNOWN
Mercer answered.
A calm voice spoke.
“Good morning, Agent Mercer.”
The room froze.
“I believe you’ve been looking for me.”
Mercer’s expression never changed.
“Who is this?”
The caller replied without hesitation.
“You’ve spent months searching for the Chair.”
A brief silence followed.
Then came the words that stopped everyone cold.
“You don’t need to search anymore.”
“I’m standing inside the building.”
The line went dead.
Outside, the lights inside the Evergreen Community Outreach Center suddenly went dark.
To Be Continued…
