The witness had hidden the box at my grandfather’s house because he had once rented him a room. After my grandfather died, no one knew it was there until a partial search warrant revealed signs of concealed storage. The Marshals came close—but not close enough. Before they returned with a full team, Neil found out what they were looking for.

“He was terrified,” Mom whispered. “Not of prison. Of the people in those files.”

So that was the debt.

Not money. Fear.

Daniel swallowed. “Neil told me there were forged deeds in the house. He said if agents found them, Mom could lose everything. He said the fastest way to protect her was to sell it before it got tied up.”

“You believed him?” I asked.

His face cracked. “I wanted to.”

That was the cruelest part. Daniel wasn’t innocent—but he had been manipulated. Neil fed him just enough fear, just enough paperwork, and let him do what he always did: take control, silence doubts, call it necessary.

A marshal returned. “We’ve got Neil in custody behind the building. He had a storage key and a burner phone.”

The female marshal listened to her radio, then looked at me.

“We searched your trunk. The box isn’t there.”

For a moment, the room tilted again.