PART 1: The Hidden Address
The road to Camden narrowed as they climbed, all cracked pavement and pine-shadowed turns, the kind of route that didn't show up on tourist maps or Google directions.
Jack sat in the passenger seat of Izzy's beat-up Crown Vic, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek like he was trying to keep the words in.
Izzy drove with one hand on the wheel and her eyes on the GPS tracker blinking from her dash.
The name they were following didn't exist.
Madeline Crane.
Registered under a shell trust from Vermont. Utilities paid in cash-equivalent wire deposits. No online presence. No property taxes for three years — paid in advance.
Only one person had ever linked the address to anything real.
A baggage record from Palma de Mallorca. Two years ago. The same name had rented a midsize SUV in Portland, Maine, the week after.
It was the closest thing they had to a fingerprint.
Now they were here.
The house sat at the end of a winding gravel path, half-hidden by thick woods and sloped just far enough off the road that you wouldn't see it unless you were looking.
A cabin, technically — two floors, moss-covered roof, shutters drawn, the paint peeling from cedar planks like the place had been waiting for someone to forget it.
Izzy parked at the edge of the drive.
Jack was already unbuckled.
"Wait," Izzy said.
He looked at her, tense. "For what?"
"For her to answer, not run."
They walked the rest of the way on foot.
A crow called once from deep in the trees. Somewhere, a woodpile shifted.
Izzy stepped up to the porch first and knocked twice, then once more — sharp, spaced, deliberate.
Jack stood half a step behind her, breathing through his nose like he was holding something back.
The door creaked open.
A woman stood in the shadows. Mid-fifties, maybe. Short, dark hair gone silver at the edges. Eyes sharp. Untrusting.
She looked at Izzy.
Then at Jack.
Her mouth moved first, before any sound came.
"Jesus," she said. "You two."
Jack took a small step forward. "Evelyn?"
She nodded — once.
Then, as if someone had just cut the wire holding her upright, she stepped aside and opened the door.
"Well," she said, voice rasped by dust and time, "might as well come in. We're officially screwed now anyway."
PART 2: Evelyn Tells the Truth
The living room smelled faintly of cedar and mothballs — a scent of slow decay, the kind that settled in when no one visited and everything stayed too quiet for too long.
Evelyn motioned toward the couch.
Jack sat first, but not comfortably. Izzy stood, scanning the space. Old books. A cold fireplace. A map of the Maine coastline pinned to the far wall with small red dots across it like some old war plan.
Evelyn returned with a metal tin under her arm and set it on the coffee table. No label. Dented lid. She opened it.
Inside: folders, thumb drives, and folded bank statements yellowed at the edges.
"I was never meant to be gone," she said. "Just... erased. Quietly."
Jack leaned forward. "Why?"
Evelyn met his eyes. "Because I knew how Marcus worked. Because I saw where the money started moving. And because I told Arthur."
"You two were still in contact?" Izzy asked.
Evelyn nodded. "Not always. But he knew how to find me. And when he realized what Thorne was doing — really doing — he asked me to go dark."
"Why not go to the police?" Izzy said.
Evelyn almost laughed. "Arthur didn't trust the police. Not then. Not when half the people investigating his company were invested in it."
She pulled out a sheet of paper. Handwritten signatures at the bottom. Bank forms. Transfer receipts.
"All of this," she said, "was funneled through accounts opened in my name. After I disappeared."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "You're saying Marcus used you?"
"I'm saying Marcus built a dead identity and then wrapped it around a billion-dollar laundering scheme. Because no one audits ghosts."
Izzy took the form from her, examining the headers.
"Arthur didn't catch it until after your name started showing up on internal memos," she said.
Evelyn nodded. "By then, it was too late. I was embedded in half of the offshore movement structure. He tried to isolate the damage — that's what the first ledger was. An outline. A trail."
Jack looked at her hard. "Why'd you agree to disappear?"
Evelyn looked out the window before answering.
"I didn't. Not at first. I ran. Then Arthur found me, and he gave me a choice — die publicly, or live quietly."
"And you trusted him?" Izzy asked.
Evelyn gave a tired smile.
"No. But I trusted who he was when he was afraid. That version of Arthur didn't lie. He just panicked."
She pulled out a final folder — this one thick, sealed with a rubber band.
"Everything else I know," she said, "is in here. Including what he wouldn't tell you."
Jack stared at the folder like it might bite.
Izzy reached for it.
Evelyn didn't let go just yet.
"You open that," she said, "and it stops being about Arthur. Or me. Or even Marcus."
Izzy looked at her. "Then what's it about?"
Evelyn let go.
"Your girl," she said softly. "The one with the backpack. She's not just part of the story."
"She's the next chapter."
PART 3: The Second Ledger
The folder Evelyn handed over was a bruised green, corners softened by years of handling. Not a government file. Not corporate.
Personal. Like a diary written in numbers.
Izzy opened it on the coffee table. Inside were a dozen pages of narrow-line paper, covered in tight, looping handwriting and columns that made Jack's eyes ache just to glance at.
At first glance, it mirrored Arthur's ledger — same codes, same shell company rotations. Carapace, Vireon, Blackstar P. But then the pattern shifted.
Evelyn flipped to page six.
"There," she said, tapping the margin.
Izzy read aloud: "LR-TRUST / Non-Disclosed Guardian."
Jack blinked. "What is that?"
"A structure," Evelyn said. "Set up offshore. They hid it inside the Belize files behind a fake compliance folder. On paper, it's just a beneficiary trust fund."
Izzy looked at her. "For Leah."
Evelyn nodded. "But she didn't sign it. She didn't authorize it. Neither did her legal guardian."
Jack's voice dropped. "So how the hell does it exist?"
"Someone forged the paperwork. Used your name, Jack. A copy of your signature, maybe years old. Claimed 'relief custody authority.' You'd know the term if you'd ever filed for custody."
Jack swore under his breath.
Evelyn kept going. "Then they backdated the trust. Made it look like it was established when Leah was thirteen — right after your last arrest."
Izzy flipped the next page. The transactions weren't small. Hundreds of thousands moved quarterly, then rolled into holding funds labeled with project names. She tapped one entry:
SEED/PERSEUS > ROURKE/LEAH HOLDING — Dormant Activation: Age 18
"They're waiting for her to come of age," Izzy said quietly.
"Why?" Jack's voice was hollow now.
Evelyn's eyes were cold. "Because when she does, she becomes the legal name behind five years of buried financial activity. She gets the money, sure — but also the liability. If someone pulls the thread... she looks like the one holding the bag."
Jack sat back like he'd been hit.
"You mean they've made her... the shell."
"She's not just a front," Evelyn said. "She's an exit strategy."
Izzy stared at the page. "Unless we kill the trust before activation."
Evelyn nodded. "You've got until next month. Then it flips."
"And after that?" Jack asked.
Evelyn looked at him. "Then your daughter becomes the most convenient financial criminal in North America."
PART 4: Past Tense, Present Threat
Jack sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.
The only sound in the room was the ticking of an antique wall clock — faint, steady, unbothered by the storm swirling through every other part of the cabin.
Izzy stood by the window, arms crossed, thinking.
Evelyn poured a glass of water and set it gently in front of Jack. He didn't touch it.
"She was the perfect name," Evelyn said softly. "Clean, unconnected, invisible in corporate networks. Too young to raise suspicion. Close enough to Arthur to inherit something. Far enough from Rourke-Thorne's board to never be flagged by internal counsel."
Izzy turned from the window. "And using her gave them one more insurance policy — if anything blew up, she'd look like a spoiled beneficiary with no idea how the system worked. They could hang it all on her. Let her burn quietly."
Jack finally lifted his head.
"You think this was Arthur's idea?"
Evelyn shook her head. "No. I think Arthur figured it out too late. That letter he left? He wanted her protected. But the network was already built by then. Marcus had control."
Izzy walked to the table and unrolled a small map — one she'd brought herself. She pointed to a pin mark on the east side of the city grid.
"This is where the trust was originally registered, right?"
Evelyn nodded. "A front office under a holding firm. Doesn't exist anymore."
"So we go after the paper trail."
Evelyn frowned. "They've scrubbed the trail six times over."
"We don't need the trail," Izzy said. "We need the person who built it."
Jack looked up. "Thorne?"
"No," Evelyn said quietly. "The man under him. The one who ran the numbers."
She stepped into the next room and returned with a folder — thin, gray, creased. She laid it flat on the table and opened it to a single name, handwritten in thick blue ink.
Carl Vanz.
"Arthur trusted him once," she said. "He was an internal auditor. Helped Arthur back when they were still running lean — before the shell games. Carl flagged something in 2017. Disappeared a year later. He lives off-grid now, maybe in Vermont, maybe Canada. Last trace I had was a cash wire transfer to a rental P.O. box outside Barre."
"Why would he help us?" Izzy asked.
"Because he still believes in the numbers. And he still hates Marcus Thorne."
Jack spoke slowly. "You think he can break the trust?"
"If anyone can," Evelyn said, "it's the guy who first saw how they built it."
Izzy folded the map.
"Then we find him."
Jack stood up.
"I'll go."
Evelyn's voice sharpened. "No. You're flagged, Jack. The moment you cross state lines, you'll set off a heat sensor somewhere."
She looked at Izzy.
"You'll need to go alone. Quiet."
Izzy nodded. "Send me everything you have."
Evelyn handed over a USB drive from inside the gray folder.
"Everything I didn't burn," she said. "But hurry. Once that trust flips, there's no walking it back."
Jack looked down at Leah's name on the ledger page again.
Every line of ink felt like a fuse.
PART 5: They're Not Alone
The sun had dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows across the clearing. Izzy was the first to notice.
Tire tracks.
Deep ones — too fresh to be Evelyn's.
They curved through the pine needles behind the cabin, just beyond the sightline of the road, looping back toward the ridge like someone had parked... and watched.
Izzy crouched low and touched the ruts.
Still soft. Damp.
Recent.
Jack stepped up behind her. "That you?"
She shook her head.
Evelyn was at the porch now, one hand resting on the doorframe, her expression hollow.
"How long?" Izzy asked.
Evelyn didn't blink. "They know. Probably knew before you showed up."
"You think they followed us?"
"I think they never lost me."
She looked at Jack. "Go. Now. Both of you."
Izzy straightened. "We can take you somewhere—"
"No," Evelyn said. "That's not how this works. If I disappear again, they'll chase me. If I burn what they want, they might stop looking."
Jack frowned. "You really think that works?"
Evelyn didn't smile. "No. But I've got enough left in here," she tapped the side of her temple, "to make it hurt if they try."
Inside, she tossed a stack of folders into the fireplace and struck a match. The flame flared, caught, and took fast. Evelyn stood back and watched it climb.
Izzy turned to Jack. "We leave now."
Jack hesitated. "She'll be okay?"
"She's survived worse," Izzy said. "But if that fire doesn't kill the paper trail—someone else might try to."
They got in the car.
Drove.
Didn't speak for miles.
At 2:17 a.m., Izzy's phone buzzed once.
No name. Just a number she didn't recognize.
A single message:
"House is gone. I'm not. Don't come back. —M"
Jack read it over her shoulder.
"'M'?"
"Madeline," Izzy said. "Her alias."
He leaned back in the seat.
"They're not cleaning up," he said. "They're erasing."
Izzy tightened her grip on the wheel.
"Then we make sure they miss a spot."