"Obstruction," Finn says, leaning forward.
"Systematic." The next file opens on screen. "This is what his widow sent me. From the safety deposit box she didn't know existed."
Finn studies the photographs Tom left behind. Coded references to locations in Alaska, supply routes through remote areas, financial transactions that don't match legitimate business. His expression hardens as he processes what he's seeing.
"These coordinates," he says, pointing to a series of notations in Tom's handwriting. "I know these locations. I've delivered to some of them."
Cold floods through me. "You've been to sites Tom was investigating?"
"Tom was investigating. I was just delivering." He pulls out his phone, opens a notes app. "Three months ago, I got a request for a supply drop at coordinates that didn't match any registered homestead or business. Payment was triple the normal rate, cash on delivery. I took it because the money was good and the client claimed they were setting up a research station."
"What did you deliver?"
"Non-perishable food, medical supplies, camping equipment. Nothing illegal on the surface." His fingers drumagainst the table. "But when I got there, the 'research station' was just an old mining equipment shed. Empty. I left the supplies outside as instructed and never saw anyone."
"Did you go back?"
"Twice more. Same pattern. Cash payment, supplies left at an abandoned location, no contact with anyone." He meets my gaze. "I started documenting it after the second run. Taking photos, noting the condition of the sites, tracking whether the supplies I left were actually picked up."
My pulse kicks. "You have photos?"
"Of everything," he says, nodding and pulling up images on his phone. "The tire tracks don't match my vehicle. There are fresh footprints in the snow. Evidence someone was using these locations regularly but staying out of sight."
I compare his photos to Tom's notes, and the pattern clicks into place. "These are transfer points. They're moving people through the backcountry using abandoned infrastructure. They pay locals like you to make legitimate-looking supply runs as cover for their operations."
"Using me." Anger edges his voice. "Using my routes and my reputation to hide trafficking."
"It's brilliant, actually. A known local making regular deliveries doesn't raise suspicion. Anyone watching just sees normal supply runs to remote areas." My files fill the screen, showing the connections. "Tom figured it out. Look at his timeline. He was tracking these locations for months before he died."
We work through the evidence together, connecting Tom's investigation to the patterns Finn has observed. The coordination is too precise to be coincidence. Someone with detailed knowledge of Alaska's backcountry is running this operation, using legitimate infrastructure as cover.
"The task force monitoring my intel has been tracking the same federal official you've been hearing about," I say, pulling up my timeline. "The Marshal. J.M."
Finn's expression hardens. "So you've connected him to this too."
"He's the one who killed Tom. The one who framed me for Stormwatch." The name still tastes bitter. "High enough in the DOJ to manipulate evidence and shut down investigations."
"But you don't know his actual identity."
"Not yet. Tom never wrote it down. Either he didn't know or it was too dangerous to document until he had proof that couldn't be buried." The timeline shows connections between deaths and investigations. "But if we can connect these Alaska locations to the trafficking network, if we can prove federal involvement, the task force might be able to identify him."
Finn stands and walks to a cabinet, pulling out his own map of the region. He spreads it across the table, marked with notes in his precise handwriting. Delivery routes, abandoned infrastructure, locations where he's noticed suspicious activity.
"Tomorrow's site," he says, tapping a spot that matches Tom's coordinates. "Old logging road that dead-ends near an equipment shed. I've seen fresh tire tracks there three times in the past two months."
"Can we reach it?"
"If the weather holds. Rough terrain, four-wheel drive minimum, and we'll need to leave before dawn to have enough daylight." He traces the route. "Six hours round trip, maybe more if we hit heavy snow."
"What are we looking for?"
"Evidence of regular use. Supply caches. Anything proving they're moving people through this route." He pulls out a camera from a drawer. "We document everything. Photos with timestamps and GPS coordinates."
"Without revealing I'm the source."
"We can get it to Zeke and he can claim the intel came through his network. One more piece of evidence from a confidential informant won't raise questions." Finn's gaze holds mine. "But if we find what you think we'll find, this gets dangerous fast. The people running this operation have already killed to protect it."
"I know." My voice is steadier than I feel. "Tom knew too. He didn’t stop investigating."
