Page 64 of Keller

"I won't. That's why I needed to see you. This was a perfect reset."

We go our separate ways on the sidewalk. She heads to her car, and I walk the few blocks to my office.

The afternoon light has shifted by the time Martin closes the folder and rests both hands on the table. The conference room air is stale, and the overhead light is brighter than I like. He's read through my brief three times, asking pointed questions in between, circling the same sections as if repetition might reveal something I missed.

Finally, he looks up at me.

“If Ridge Stone wanted that shipment to go through,” he says evenly, “it would not have been turned over the way it was. Cooperation at that level is difficult to stage.”

I nod once. I had reached the same conclusion, but hearing him say it without hesitation steadies something in me.

“I couldn't agree more.”

He closes the file and slides it back toward me. “You’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing, Mercer. Keep following this. This is exactly why you're on this.“ He taps on the review I prepared.

"I think this answers a lot of questions. But it creates more. We need to know more about David Parsale."

"Already on it.”

When I step out into the hallway, the building hums with the low, end-of-day fatigue of fluorescent lights and distant conversations. I walk back toward my office without rushing, the file tucked against my side.

Martin does not hand out comfort. He hands out directions. Today, the direction is clear. Look closer at the employee, not the family.

That distinction settles somewhere beneath my ribs. It's not triumph, not relief in any dramatic sense. It's simply a recalibration.

If there were coordinated corruption tied to Robert Stone’s death, it would not look like this. It would leave a differentimprint, financial maneuvering at the top. Executive-level communication and suppression.

Instead, I have three clustered overrides tied to one credential and one client who later proved illicit before Ridge forwarded it through Customs.

That is a thread, not a conspiracy.

And in a tiny but significant way, it loosens my concern about boundaries surrounding Keller.

The realization doesn't make me reckless. It gives me room. Room to continue doing my job without assuming that every interaction with him compromises it.

Room to stop bracing for evidence that has not materialized.

I reach my office door and pause for half a second before stepping inside.

For the first time since this assignment began, I do not feel like I am standing on the edge of something that will collapse the moment I let myself lean.

After another several hours of digging into my new target, my eyes are crossing. I'm at month five of twelve months back on his reroute habits. So far, nothing sticks out like the ones in October.

My eyes are starting to cross. I need to get out of here.

My phone rings, and Keller's name lights up the screen.

So I've been thinking about the grief counselor's basement. Do you think the director wanted us to notice the mirror or were we supposed to miss it?

I stare at the message. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth despite everything.

We were supposed to miss it. That's why the camera held on the flowers instead.

Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Flowers as misdirection. Ruthless.

I try to think of something clever to say. I'm smiling like an idiot, excited for the silly banter with him. Then another text from him comes up.