Roy returned to the clubhouse at four in the morning.
Nobody slept.
Frank spread maps across the table.
Earl sat beside him.
June made coffee.
Walter and Maggie were in the back room.
Roy stared at the police badge.
"I know Crane."
Frank looked up.
"You know him?"
"Years ago."
"How?"
Roy leaned against the table.
"Before I became president, I ran a towing company."
Frank waited.
"Crane was a patrol officer then. He used to show up at accident scenes before the ambulances."
"That's normal."
"Not when the tow truck was already there."
Frank understood.
"You think he was taking money?"
"I know he was."
Roy looked at the badge.
"He'd steer damaged cars to certain shops. Those shops charged insurance companies twice what the repairs cost."
"And nobody stopped him?"
"Someone did."
"Who?"
"Me."
Frank stared.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
Roy shook his head.
"I thought that was the end of it."
He wasn't finished.
"Six months later, my old partner disappeared."
Frank's expression changed.
"You never told us that."
"There wasn't much to tell."
"What was his name?"
"Tom."
Roy looked toward the window.
"Tom found evidence against Crane."
"What kind?"
"Photos. Bank records. Names."
"And?"
"He vanished."
Frank stared at Roy.
"Same as Michael."
Roy nodded.
"Same pattern."
A floorboard creaked.
Walter appeared in the doorway.
"You knew this man before?"
Roy nodded.
Walter looked at him.
"Then you know where my son is?"
"No."
Walter's shoulders fell.
"But I know who we're looking for."
Walter walked closer.
"Can you find him?"
Roy looked into the old man's eyes.
"Yes."
Walter took a breath.
"Then do it."
The next morning, Roy visited Michael's workplace.
The manager was nervous.
Too nervous.
Roy noticed immediately.
"What did Michael work on?"
"Heavy machinery."
"Anything unusual?"
"No."
Roy stared at him.
"Try again."
The manager looked toward the office window.
"Michael found irregularities."
"What kind?"
"Parts."
"Stolen?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
The manager lowered his voice.
"Parts were being moved from our warehouse to private construction sites."
"Without invoices?"
"Yes."
"Who authorized it?"
The manager shook his head.
"I don't know."
Roy leaned closer.
"You do."
The man finally broke.
"Victor Crane."
Roy said nothing.
"Crane had connections with several contractors. He'd use police evidence storage to hide equipment. Michael found records."
"Where?"
"The old quarry."
Roy's phone vibrated.
Frank.
Roy answered.
"Talk."
"We found Michael's truck."
"Where?"
"Three miles from the quarry."
"Is he there?"
"No."
Roy closed his eyes.
"Anything else?"
Frank paused.
"Blood."
Roy's expression changed.
"Whose?"
"We don't know."
Roy hung up.
The manager whispered, "Is Michael alive?"
Roy looked at him.
"I don't know."
Then he walked away.
At the quarry, the air smelled like wet stone.
Michael's pickup sat abandoned near a drainage ditch.
One door was open.
The driver's seat was torn.
There was blood on the steering wheel.
Walter arrived behind Roy.
He stopped when he saw the truck.
"My boy drove that."
Roy nodded.
Walter walked toward it.
Maggie stayed beside him.
"Don't touch anything," Roy said.
Walter ignored him.
He climbed inside.
For several seconds, he sat silently.
Then he began crying.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just tears.
The kind that came from a place deeper than grief.
Roy stood outside.
He understood that kind of pain.
He had felt it once.
When his younger brother died.
When his mother passed.
When Tom disappeared.
The feeling wasn't simply sadness.
It was helplessness.
The worst kind.
Maggie stepped out of the Buick.
She walked toward Roy.
"You have someone you lost."
Roy looked at her.
"Tom."
"You still think about him."
"Every day."
"Then you understand my husband."
Roy nodded.
Maggie looked at the truck.
"Bring Michael home."
Roy answered quietly.
"I will."
That afternoon, Roy discovered something inside the truck.
A loose floor mat.
Underneath it was a small flash drive.
Frank plugged it into a laptop.
One folder appeared.
PROJECT HENDERSON.
Inside were dozens of documents.
Payments.
Vehicle records.
Photographs.
Names.
Police officers.
Contractors.
Judges.
And one file labeled:
IRON RIDGE RIDERS.
Roy stared at it.
Frank looked confused.
"Why would Crane have a file on us?"
Roy opened it.
There were photographs of every major member.
Addresses.
Family members.
Workplaces.
Daily routines.
Roy's stomach turned.
"This isn't about Michael."
Frank looked at him.
"No."
Roy scrolled farther.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Michael standing beside a warehouse.
Next to him was Victor Crane.
And beside Crane stood a man Roy recognized.
Tom.
Roy froze.
Frank whispered.
"Boss?"
Roy didn't answer.
The photograph was dated fourteen years earlier.
Tom had disappeared fourteen years ago.
Roy stared at the screen.
Then he saw the final line in the file.
MICHAEL KNOWS WHERE TOM HID THE ORIGINAL EVIDENCE.
Roy slowly stood.
For fourteen years, he had believed Tom was dead.
Now he knew something worse.
Tom might still be alive.
And Michael had found him.
The Cabin in the Woods
Michael Henderson woke to darkness.
His hands were tied behind a wooden chair.
His head hurt.
His mouth tasted like blood.
He tried to move.
A sharp pain ran through his ribs.
He stopped.
A door opened.
Light entered the room.
Victor Crane stepped inside.
He was wearing jeans, a dark jacket, and the same calm expression Michael had seen when Crane first questioned him.
"You should have left it alone."
Michael stared at him.
"You murdered people."
Crane sighed.
"That's dramatic."