"I don't know."
"Think."
Crane closed his eyes.
"Samuel once mentioned a place outside Millbrook. A property he used for storage. He called it the winter house."
"Do you know the address?"
"No."
"Anything else?"
Crane opened his eyes.
"He used to say that the winter house was where he kept things he could not afford to lose."
Mason wrote the phrase down.
"Did you ever go there?"
"Once."
"When?"
"1988."
"Can you describe it?"
Crane stared at the floor.
"It was a white house on a hill. A long driveway. There was a stone wall around the property and a red barn behind it."
Mason looked at Arthur.
"Could you find it again?"
"I doubt it."
"Was it near a town?"
"North of Millbrook. There was a lake nearby. I remember a church with a tall clock tower."
Mason wrote that down too.
"Did Samuel keep the house?"
"I don't know. He sold properties whenever he thought they had become inconvenient."
Mason closed the notebook.
"Mr. Crane, would you be willing to give us a statement?"
The old man looked at him for a long moment.
"I have been waiting thirty-eight years for someone to ask."
The statement was recorded the following week.
Crane agreed to provide the notebook and identify the photograph. He also agreed to speak with the investigators handling the earlier Blackwater case.
Mason made sure the notebook was copied and secured before leaving it with the legal team.
He had learned the hard way that one document could disappear if it was left in the wrong hands.
The new evidence changed the direction of the investigation.
Samuel Price was no longer just a name in an old letter.
He was now a documented participant in the financial arrangements surrounding the attack on Mason's father.
The investigators began looking for properties connected to him.
They found eleven.
Most had been sold.
Two had been demolished.
One had been transferred to a trust that no longer existed.
The final property was registered under a company called North Lake Holdings.
It was located approximately twenty miles north of Millbrook.
Mason recognized the name immediately.
North Lake.
The same place where Victor Hale had claimed William Cole died.
The same place where Mason had found the letter that led to the discovery of Rebecca Shaw's involvement.
Arthur stared at the address.
"That's too much of a coincidence."
"Maybe."
"Or someone has been using that property for years."
Mason looked at the map.
The address was outside a small village, near the northern edge of the lake.
"Let's find out."
They reached the property on a cold morning.
The road narrowed as they approached the lake. Trees crowded both sides, and the pavement gave way to gravel near the final turn.
The house stood on a rise.
It was white.
A stone wall surrounded the property.
Behind it was a red barn.
Mason stopped the vehicle.
Arthur stared through the windshield.
"That's it."
Neither man moved for several seconds.
The place looked abandoned, but there were signs of recent activity. The grass had been cut. The driveway had fresh tire marks. A security camera was mounted near the gate.
Mason took photographs.
Then he called the investigator assigned to the case.
He gave the address and explained the connection to Samuel Price.
The investigator told him not to enter the property.
Mason agreed.
They waited.
Forty minutes later, a county vehicle arrived.
The officer inspected the property from the road and confirmed that the ownership records were unclear. The company that held the title had been dissolved, but the property was still maintained through a private management arrangement.
The investigator obtained permission to search the records and requested a formal warrant.
Mason and Arthur returned to the village.
They spent the afternoon speaking with residents.
Most knew little about the property. It had been closed for years, they said. A caretaker came occasionally. Deliveries were made through a side entrance.
An elderly woman named Helen Brooks remembered a man who had lived there in the late eighties.
"He was always polite," she said. "Never stayed long. But he had people visiting him at odd hours."
"Do you remember his name?" Mason asked.
"Mr. Price."
Mason felt his attention sharpen.
"Samuel Price?"
She nodded.
"He used to come into the village for groceries. He always paid in cash. One day he stopped coming."
"Do you know when?"
"Must have been around 1992."
"Did anyone else live with him?"
Helen considered the question.
"There was a young woman. Not his wife, I don't think. She came and went. She had a little boy with her once."
Mason exchanged a glance with Arthur.
"Do you remember the woman's name?"
"No. But I remember the boy."
"What about him?"
"He was frightened of the house."
Helen looked toward the lake.
"I saw him standing by the road one evening. He was crying. I asked if he was lost. He said he wanted to go home."
Mason felt a knot form in his stomach.
"Did you help him?"
"I offered to call someone. He said not to. Then a car came. The woman was driving. She got out and took him away."
"Did you see the man?"
"Not that evening."
Mason thanked her.
As they walked back to the vehicle, Arthur spoke quietly.
"A child."
"Yes."
"Could have been Samuel's son."
"Or someone else's."
Arthur looked toward the distant property.
"If that boy was frightened of him, Samuel may have had more than business secrets in that house."
Mason did not answer.
The investigation had begun with a financial trail.
Now it was becoming something more personal.
The warrant was approved two days later.
The search team entered the property with investigators, a forensic technician, and a representative from the county.
Mason and Arthur were not permitted inside.
They waited in the vehicle at the end of the driveway.
The first call came after forty minutes.
The house was mostly empty.
Furniture remained in several rooms, covered in dust. The kitchen had been cleaned recently. There were no obvious signs of a long-term occupant.
The second call came an hour later.
The investigators had found a locked room beneath the staircase.
Inside were filing cabinets, several storage boxes, and a small safe.
Mason closed his eyes.
"That's it."
Arthur nodded.
The safe required a specialist.
By late afternoon, the investigators had opened it.
They found cash, old passports, a collection of photographs, and a leather folder.
The folder contained a list of names.
Some were familiar.
Others were not.
Among them was a name that made Mason's stomach tighten.
Catherine Cole.
His grandmother.
Beside her name was a date.
March 14, 1989.
And a note.
Contact attempted. Subject refuses cooperation.
Mason read the information over the phone.