The meeting was not announced.
It rarely was.
Vince arrived at the station just after dusk, the light outside already thinning into something indistinct. Greyford looked different at this hour. Not quieter. More deliberate. As if people paused before committing to each movement.
Robert Mercer stood in the briefing room alone when Vince entered. No uniform jacket. No paperwork spread out. Just the table, the chairs, and the faint hum of the lights above.
"You wanted to talk," Vince said.
Robert nodded. "We should do it before it turns into something else."
Vince took a seat across from him. "It already has."
Robert accepted that without comment. He folded his hands on the table, fingers interlaced, posture practiced. This was how he looked when making decisions that would never be written down.
"Evan Hale isn't reacting," Robert said. "He's setting things up."
"Yes."
"He wants the town to move on its own."
"Yes."
Robert looked at Vince steadily. That makes him harder to deal with than if he were accusing anyone.
Vince did not disagree. "Because you can't contain what people decide for themselves."
Robert exhaled. Because if I stop it, I prove him right.
There it was. The cost, laid bare.
A knock sounded at the door before either of them spoke again.
Daniel entered without waiting.
He carried a thin folder under his arm, the kind used for administrative reports. Not police. Not personal. Institutional.
"Chief," he said.
Robert nodded. "Daniel."
Vince watched closely as Daniel took a seat beside the wall. Close enough to participate. Far enough to remain separate.
The folder opened. Pages slid out onto the table.
"Inspection reports," Daniel said. "Environmental. Zoning. Historical usage."
Vince glanced at the header. County letterhead. Formal. Dry.
"And this concerns us how," Vince asked.
Daniel's mouth tightened slightly. "It concerns the service lot. And the properties surrounding it."
Robert's gaze sharpened. "Those records are sealed."
"They were," Daniel said. "Until they weren't."
Vince read the name at the bottom of the page before Daniel spoke it.
Mercer.
The room went still.
Daniel noticed Vince's focus and paused. Just long enough.
"Yes," Daniel said. "That Mercer."
Vince looked from the paper to Robert. "So this was never just professional."
Robert did not flinch. "Nothing here ever is."
Daniel continued, voice even. "My father believed in continuity. He believed Greyford survived because people kept it running, not because they pulled it apart.
"And you," Vince said. "You inherited that belief."
Daniel met his eyes. "I inherited responsibility."
Vince let the silence stretch.
"So when Tommy Raines disappeared," Vince said, you helped decide what version people could live with.
Daniel did not deny it. "We decided what would keep the town intact."
"And the truth," Vince said.
Daniel hesitated. "The truth would have fractured things we could not put back together."
Robert leaned forward slightly. "You're talking as if we had options."
"You did," Vince replied. "You chose order."
Robert closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, something had shifted. Not guilt. Recognition.
"Yes," he said. "I did."
Outside, footsteps passed the hallway door. Voices. Normal sounds. Greyford continuing.
Vince's eyes moved back to the file on the table.
One name appeared more than once. Not highlighted. Not emphasized. Just present, threaded through dates and locations that should not have connected as neatly as they did.
Elaine.
He did not linger on it. He noticed the pattern. The way her involvement did not spike or fade, but stayed level, like something meant to last. While others passed responsibility upward or outward, her name remained attached to movement, timing, distance.
That was why it had held.
Vince closed the folder.
Nothing symbolic.
Nothing emotional.
No echo of Elena.
No interior monologue.
"You all agreed," Vince said slowly. "Not because you trusted each other. Because you trusted the system."
Robert nodded. "And the system worked."
"For a while," Vince said.
Daniel's hands tightened around the folder. "Evan knew this would happen."
"Yes," Vince said. "That's what he wanted."
Robert looked up. "Explain."
"He didn't come back to expose a crime," Vince said. "He came back to make the agreement visible."
Daniel shook his head. "That doesn't absolve him."
"No," Vince said. "But it explains him."
Robert leaned back in his chair. "So what happens now."
Vince considered the room. The men in it. The weight they carried.
"Now," he said, "people stop agreeing."
Daniel stood abruptly. "You're letting this unravel."
"I'm letting it breathe," Vince replied.
Robert watched Daniel carefully. "Sit down."
Daniel did. Slowly.
"You think chaos is worse than truth," Vince said. "But the truth has already been living here. You just kept it quiet."
Robert stared at the table. "And what does that make me."
"An enabler," Vince said. "Not the villain."
That landed harder than accusation would have.
The lights flickered once. Settled.
When Vince left the station, the night had fully taken hold. Across the street, a figure jogged past under a streetlamp, her pace steady, her presence familiar now that Vince knew who she was.
Elaine did not look toward the station.
She did not need to.
Greyford had paid for its order for years.
Now the bill had come due.