The headlights swept across the kitchen wall, painting the cabinets in bright, moving blocks of white light before fading into the trees.

I was alone again.

I picked up the burner phone.

The screen was still glowing green.

I cleared the missed calls and opened the messaging app.

I had a second phone, a smaller one hidden inside the hollowed-out base of the kitchen table’s center leg.

I reached down, pulled the small plastic unit free, and turned it on.

This was the phone I used to monitor the police band in the city.

The speaker crackled with static, then the voice of a dispatcher came through, thin and distant.

“All units, be advised, suspect vehicle sighted near the bridge tollbooth.”

They were looking for Gregory.

I sat down at the table and opened my laptop.

I did not open the ledger files.

Instead, I opened a blank text document.

I began to type a list of names—the names of Arthur’s primary distribution managers in the eastern district.

I knew their schedules, their drop points, and their personal license plates.