They approached the building on foot.
The rear alley was empty except for a delivery truck and several bins overflowing with cardboard. A security light flickered above a metal door.
Mason examined the lock.
"This was replaced."
Victor looked around.
"Recently?"
"Within the last month, I'd guess."
"Can you open it?"
Mason shook his head.
"Not without leaving evidence that we were here. And if someone has already changed the lock, they may have changed the alarm system too."
Bear pointed toward a narrow window near the ground.
"What about that?"
"That's the basement ventilation room."
"Can we get through?"
Mason examined the window.
"Possibly. But I'm not breaking into a courthouse."
Bear stared at him.
"You have a strange idea of what we've been doing all night."
Before Mason could answer, Victor's phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
He answered without speaking.
A man's voice came through.
"You're at the courthouse."
Victor went still.
"Who is this?"
"You don't need to know."
"Then I don't need to listen."
He started to end the call.
"Daniel is alive."
Victor froze.
Mason and Bear looked at him.
The voice continued.
"If you want to find him, stop looking for the ledger."
Victor held the phone tightly.
"Where is he?"
"Somewhere you won't find him if you keep making the wrong decisions."
"Who are you?"
A pause.
Then the man said, "Someone who made a mistake twelve years ago and has spent every day since trying to correct it."
Victor's stomach tightened.
"Are you Thomas Reed?"
The silence on the line lasted so long that Victor thought the call had ended.
Then the man answered.
"No."
Victor looked at Bear.
"But you knew him."
The voice grew faint.
"Everybody knew Tom Reed."
"Tell me what happened on Route 17."
A sharp breath came through the receiver.
"Look beneath the lighthouse."
The call ended.
Victor stared at the screen.
Mason stepped closer.
"What did he say?"
Victor slowly lowered the phone.
"Daniel is alive."
Bear's face changed.
"Where?"
"I don't know."
Victor looked toward the courthouse.
"But I think we know where to start."
He took the drawing of the lighthouse from his pocket.
The paper had been folded carefully and placed inside his jacket before they left the clubhouse. He opened it beneath the security light.
The lighthouse was drawn in black ink, with three narrow windows and a crooked railing around the top. At the base stood a small building, and beneath the rocks was a line that could have been a path or a crack in the earth.
Mason studied the image.
"That isn't a real lighthouse."
Victor looked at him.
"How do you know?"
"Because there hasn't been a lighthouse anywhere near Blackridge for a hundred years. We're inland."
Bear leaned closer.
"Maybe it's a model. Some kind of landmark."
Victor shook his head.
"Daniel didn't draw this for decoration. He wanted us to find something."
Mason looked at the number on the back.
"Seventeen."
He paused.
"There's an old navigation station near the Route 17 bridge. It was built when the county was planning a reservoir project. They used a beacon to guide maintenance crews through the fog."
Victor stared at him.
"Is it still there?"
"Last I heard, the building had been abandoned."
Bear pointed down the alley.
"Then why are we standing outside the courthouse?"
Victor folded the drawing.
"Because somebody wanted us to come here."
He looked toward the dark windows.
"And now somebody wants us to leave."
The three men returned to the truck.
They drove toward Route 17.
The old navigation station stood beside a disused access road, hidden behind a line of trees. Its brick walls had been stained by decades of weather, and the metal tower above it leaned slightly to one side. A small white light glowed at the top.
Victor stopped the truck.
"That light wasn't on when I came through here last year," Mason said.
Bear opened his door.
"Then somebody's using the building."
Victor caught his arm.
"Wait."
He studied the grounds.
There were tire tracks in the wet dirt. Fresh ones.
Two vehicles had entered the property recently, and one appeared to have left in a hurry.
Victor pointed toward a patch of darkness beside the building.
"There's a side entrance."
They approached quietly.
The door was unlocked.
Inside, the air smelled of damp stone, rust, and old electrical equipment. A narrow staircase descended into a basement. At the bottom, a single lamp illuminated a table covered with maps, folders, and several empty coffee cups.
On the wall hung a photograph.
Daniel Morgan stood beside Thomas Reed.
Both men looked younger than Victor remembered them. Daniel was holding a rolled-up document, while Tom pointed toward something beyond the camera.
Behind them was the same truck that had gone over the embankment twelve years earlier.
Mason walked toward the photograph.
"That's the truck I saw in the other picture."
Victor examined the image.
A small symbol had been drawn in the lower-right corner: a circle surrounding three lines.
He recognized it immediately.
It was the mark Daniel had used on the repair shop's invoices whenever he wanted to identify a job that had been paid for in cash.
"What does it mean?" Bear asked.
Victor touched the glass.
"It means Daniel wanted someone to find this."
A sound came from the far side of the room.
A chair scraped across the floor.
All three men turned.
A figure emerged from behind a row of shelves.
He was thin, with gray hair, a narrow face, and a deep scar that ran across his neck. He wore an old work jacket, and his left hand trembled slightly as he raised it.
Victor recognized him from the photograph.
Thomas Reed.
Bear stopped breathing.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then he whispered, "Tom?"
The man closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry, brother."
Bear crossed the room in three strides and seized him by the shoulders.
"You're dead."
Tom nodded.
"I know."
"You've been dead for twelve years."
"I know."
Bear's face twisted with disbelief and fury.
"Your wife buried an empty coffin. Your daughter grew up believing you were gone. We stood at your grave every year."
Tom's eyes filled with tears.
"I know."
Bear released him as though his touch had burned.
"Why?"
Tom looked at Victor.
"Because I saw what Whitmore was doing. I saw the records. I knew which officials were involved, and I knew they would kill anyone who could prove it."