The field behind the farmhouse was uneven and overgrown.
Marcus Reed ran with Frank Miller several steps behind him. Tall grass brushed against their legs, and patches of muddy ground threatened to send them sprawling.
Behind them, voices rose from the farmhouse.
"Check the rear!"
"They went into the field!"
Marcus glanced over his shoulder.
Two men had emerged from the kitchen door. One carried a flashlight, while the other moved toward the shed.
Captain Hales remained near the front entrance, shouting instructions.
Marcus knew he could not outrun everyone indefinitely, especially with Miller struggling to maintain his pace.
They reached a drainage ditch and crouched behind a cluster of bushes.
Miller was breathing heavily.
"I can't keep this up," he whispered.
"You don't have to. Just stay low."
Marcus checked his phone.
The signal remained unavailable.
He had sent the location to Carter before approaching the farmhouse, but he did not know whether her team had arrived or whether the surveillance had been compromised.
He looked toward the road.
A pair of headlights appeared through the trees.
Then another.
The approaching vehicles slowed near the gate.
Marcus recognized the first as a regional oversight vehicle. Its headlights flashed twice, followed by a brief horn signal.
His backup had arrived.
He pressed the emergency button on his phone.
"Reed to Carter. I'm behind the farmhouse, in the field. Multiple individuals are on the property. One appears to be Captain Hales."
Carter's voice crackled through the connection.
"Copy. Stay where you are. We have personnel approaching from the road."
Marcus turned toward Miller.
"Help is coming."
Miller nodded, but his expression remained troubled.
"There is something else you need to know."
Marcus looked at him.
"Now?"
"If I don't tell you now, I may never get another chance."
"Then tell me while we move."
Miller swallowed.
"Price had a second source. Someone inside the regional office."
Marcus felt a familiar tension settle across his shoulders.
"Who?"
"I never learned the name. Price referred to the person as the gatekeeper. Someone who could delay requests, restrict files, and warn Westbridge whenever an investigation became dangerous."
"Could it have been Vance?"
"Possibly. But Price believed there was someone beneath him who handled the actual information."
Marcus thought of the administrative account that had accessed Elena's records and attempted to retrieve Price's file.
The system had blocked the user from entering the main archive, but the account had reached a secondary directory.
That required more than ordinary access.
It required knowledge of the system.
"Did Price leave any evidence identifying this person?"
Miller shook his head.
"Not that I saw."
A flashlight beam swept across the grass.
Marcus pulled Miller down.
One of the men had reached the edge of the field.
"Come out!" the man shouted. "We know you're here!"
Marcus waited until the flashlight moved away.
Then he guided Miller toward a line of trees separating the property from an old access road.
They had nearly reached the trees when a second figure appeared in front of them.
It was Curtis Bell.
He wore a dark jacket and held a phone in one hand.
For a moment, all three men stared at one another.
Then Curtis raised his free hand.
"Don't shoot. I'm not here to hurt you."
Marcus positioned himself between Curtis and Miller.
"Why are you here?"
Curtis looked terrified.
"They told me you were coming."
"Who told you?"
"Hales."
"Did he send you to the farmhouse?"
Curtis nodded.
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"So the message was a trap."
"I didn't send it," Curtis said quickly. "I swear. They told me to wait near the road and identify you if you came out."
"Why?"
"Because they want the documents."
Marcus studied him.
"Who is they?"
Curtis glanced toward the farmhouse.
"The sheriff. Hales. Sloane. I don't know everyone involved."
"You know enough to help them."
Curtis looked down.
"I know."
The admission was unexpected.
Marcus lowered his voice.
"Then you know what happens next. You're going to explain everything you know."
Curtis shook his head desperately.
"You don't understand. They have people everywhere."
"Then give me names."
"They'll kill me."
"You're already involved. If you want protection, you need to cooperate before they decide you're no longer useful."
Curtis looked toward Miller.
The older man recognized him.
"You helped them frame Thomas Avery," Miller said.
Curtis flinched.
"I didn't know Avery was innocent."
"You knew Lawson was putting things in people's pockets."
Curtis's eyes filled with shame.
"I knew some of the arrests were wrong."
"Some?"
Curtis said nothing.
Marcus stepped closer.
"How long has this been happening?"
"Three years. Maybe longer."
"Who organized it?"
"At first, Lawson and Hales. They would choose people they thought could be pressured. Sometimes it was a driver with a prior record. Sometimes it was someone who had argued with an officer. Sometimes it was a person who knew too much about the department."
"And the drugs?"
Curtis looked away.
"I supplied some of the packages."
"Where did they come from?"
"Meridian."
Marcus felt his stomach tighten.
"Victor Sloane?"
Curtis nodded.
"He had access to confiscated substances through a private storage contract. I don't know exactly how he got them, but he supplied packages that could be used when officers needed evidence."
"Did you see anyone altering the evidence logs?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Captain Hales. Sometimes a records clerk. I never learned the clerk's name."
Marcus took out his phone and began recording the conversation.
"You're making a statement. You understand that you must tell the truth?"
Curtis nodded.
"I'll tell you everything."
A sudden shout came from behind them.
"There!"
A flashlight illuminated the three men.
One of the pursuers began running toward the trees.
Marcus pushed Miller toward the access road.
"Move!"
Curtis followed.
They reached the road just as two regional investigators emerged from behind a parked vehicle.
"Internal Affairs!" one shouted. "Stop where you are!"
The approaching men hesitated.
Then Hales appeared from the field, his face twisted with anger.
"This is a local police matter!" he shouted. "You have no authority to interfere!"
A senior investigator stepped forward.
"Captain Hales, we're responding to a documented request for assistance. Put your hands where we can see them."
Hales stared at Marcus.
"You have no idea what you're doing."
Marcus stood beside Miller.
"That's what everyone keeps telling me."
Hales looked toward Curtis.
"You stupid little coward."
Curtis recoiled.
The words exposed something important.
Hales was not surprised to see Curtis with Marcus.
He was furious that his informant had changed sides.
The captain's hand moved toward his belt.
The investigators immediately ordered him to stop.
"Hands away from your belt!"
Hales froze.
For several seconds, the entire roadside seemed to hold its breath.
Then the captain slowly raised both hands.
Additional investigators arrived and secured the scene. Hales was separated from the others while the team documented the vehicles and the farmhouse.
Marcus turned toward Curtis.
"You're going to need legal counsel. You'll have an opportunity to provide a complete statement, but I can't promise immunity."
Curtis nodded.
"I don't expect immunity."
"Good. Because what matters now is whether your information can be corroborated."
Curtis looked at Miller.
"I know where Price kept his last set of documents."
Marcus immediately focused on him.
"Where?"
"An old storage unit near the river. He gave me the key shortly before he died."
Miller stared at Curtis in disbelief.
"You knew about that all these years?"
"I was afraid."
Marcus stepped closer.
"Why tell me now?"
Curtis's eyes moved toward the farmhouse.
"Because they were going to make me the next person who died in an accident."
He handed Marcus a small metal key.
The number 214 was stamped into its surface.
Marcus closed his fingers around it.
For six years, Daniel Price's investigation had remained incomplete.
Now, the missing pieces might finally be within reach.
But as the team prepared to transport Hales for questioning, Marcus noticed the captain speaking quietly to another investigator.
The conversation lasted only a few seconds.
Then Hales looked directly at Marcus and smiled.
It was not a frightened smile.
It was the expression of a man who believed he still possessed one final advantage.
Marcus knew better than to underestimate him.
The farmhouse had revealed the operation's local structure.
The storage unit might reveal its financial records.
But somewhere inside the regional system, someone was still protecting the people responsible.
And until that person was identified, nobody connected to the investigation could consider themselves safe.