“Because whoever took those files believes they're safe.”
Hayes went silent.
Ethan continued.
“I want to know where they go.”
He ended the call.
Then he walked back toward his office.
He stopped beneath the security camera.
He looked directly at it.
“I know you're watching.”
Nothing happened.
Ethan waited.
Then he smiled.
“Now I know you're afraid.”
He walked away.
At 7:02, Sergeant Mercer entered the station through the rear entrance.
He was not alone.
Deputy Chief Langley was waiting for him.
They walked together toward the basement.
Neither spoke.
At the bottom of the stairs, Langley opened a door.
Inside was a small storage room.
There were boxes stacked against the walls.
Mercer carried the missing files.
He placed them on a table.
Langley looked at them.
“Did he see you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Mercer nodded.
“Then why is he still there?”
Mercer looked at him.
“I don't know.”
Langley opened the Mercer file.
He removed the documents.
One by one, he placed them inside a black plastic container.
Mercer watched.
“You think he'll keep digging?”
Langley looked at him.
“He already is.”
“What do we do?”
Langley closed the container.
“We wait.”
Mercer frowned.
“For what?”
“For him to make a mistake.”
Mercer looked uncomfortable.
“And if he doesn't?”
Langley smiled faintly.
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
Mercer stared at him.
“What about Collins?”
“What about her?”
“She knows.”
Langley looked at him.
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“Then find out.”
Mercer nodded.
Langley picked up his phone.
A message appeared.
He read it.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
Mercer asked.
Langley handed him the phone.
The message contained a photograph.
It showed Ethan standing beneath the security camera.
The caption read:
“HE KNOWS.”
Mercer stared at the image.
For the first time since Ethan arrived, he looked genuinely afraid.
Langley took the phone back.
“We have a problem.”
At that exact moment, Ethan was standing alone in his office.
He had not gone home.
He had not called anyone else.
Instead, he opened the secure administrative system.
He entered a command.
A list of active access sessions appeared.
One account was still connected.
The unknown service account.
Ethan watched the screen.
The account was accessing a file.
Not the Mercer file.
Not Professional Standards.
Something else.
Ethan followed the access trail.
The system led him to a digital archive.
Then to a case number.
He opened it.
The case was twelve years old.
The name was James Holloway.
Ethan stared at the screen.
The former detective whose disciplinary memo had disappeared.
He opened the case file.
There was almost nothing there.
One complaint.
One investigation.
One resignation.
Then the file had been closed.
But one attachment remained.
A scanned handwritten note.
Ethan opened it.
The handwriting was old.
The message was short.
“Ask who signed the evidence release.”
Ethan read it twice.
Then he looked at the case metadata.
The file had been accessed that evening.
Not by him.
Not by Collins.
Not by Mercer.
By the unknown account.
Ethan sat back.
Someone was not merely watching him.
Someone was watching the same files he was watching.
And that meant the person behind the system was no longer hiding.
They were following his investigation in real time.
Ethan reached for the phone.
Then he stopped.
He looked at the clock.
7:41.
He opened the system again.
He created a new file.
He typed one sentence.
“I know you're there.”
He saved it.
Then he waited.
Thirty seconds.
Nothing.
A minute.
Nothing.
Two minutes.
The screen refreshed.
A new notification appeared.
FILE ACCESSED.
Ethan clicked it.
A message had been inserted into the file.
Three words.
“YOU DON'T KNOW.”
Ethan stared at the screen.
Then another line appeared.
“NOT YET.”
The screen went black.
The lights in Ethan's office flickered once.
Then returned.
He stood slowly.
Someone had just turned off the system remotely.
He reached for his phone.
Before he could call anyone, the office door opened.
Ethan turned.
Commissioner Hayes stood there.
Her face was pale.
“Chief.”
Ethan looked at her.
“What happened?”
She held up her phone.
“You need to see this.”
Ethan walked toward her.
The screen showed an email.
The sender was an anonymous account.
The subject line contained only one word.
“MERCER.”
Hayes opened it.
There was a single attachment.
A photograph.
It showed Sergeant Daniel Mercer standing beside a teenage boy.
The picture was old.
Very old.
The boy looked frightened.
Mercer looked much younger.
Ethan stared at the image.
“How old is this?”
Hayes shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Ethan zoomed in.
There was a date stamped in the corner.
Twelve years earlier.
Ethan looked at Hayes.
“Who is the boy?”
“I don't know.”
“Find out.”
Hayes stared at the photograph.
Then she whispered something Ethan had not expected.
“I know that face.”
Ethan looked at her.
“Who is he?”
Hayes swallowed.