“A Dana Weston.”
The name sat there.
The door opened behind them.
“Weston?” Nate said.
Every head turned.
Nate stepped fully into the room, his expression already shifting. “What about Weston?”
Caleb met his eyes. “Dana Weston. You know her?”
Nate didn’t answer right away. He crossed his arms. His gaze flicked to the pig, then back to Caleb.
“No, I don’tknowher,” he said slowly. “But if you’re saying her name in the same room as that thing, we’ve got a problem.”
“It’s not transmitting live anymore,” said Dex. “Battery died. It ran until it burned out.”
Finn frowned. “Anyone can buy a transmitter.”
“Sure,” Dex said. “But not everyone would know where to put it.”
Nate took the chair beside Titus and looked at Caleb. “Remember when we were at the Rusty Anchor and talking about the emergency storage lockers?”
Caleb frowned, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“They’re not public access,” Nate said. “Locations are mapped, but the keys, codes and maintenance records stayed inside the original program.”
“Weston,” Finn said slowly.
Nate nodded. “Emergency preparedness. FEMA contracts. Weston-Haywood Lake Coastal Resilience Project. Old money here.”
The pieces slammed together.
“Oh my God,” Caleb said. “Dana Cole.” He hesitated. “She must have changed her name?” He looked at Dex. Dex was already typing. “Give me a second.”
He glanced up, eyes narrowing. “Yeah. Weston was her maiden name. She changed it to Cole when she got married. Divorced, kept it. Same woman.”
The room went quiet.
“That explains access,” Finn said. “She grew up walking those sites with him.”
“And motive,” Chase added. “Personal.”
Nate crossed his arms, thinking. “Doesn’t mean she’s involved.”
“Agreed,” Finn said. “But it doesn’t clear her either.
Chase leaned back in his chair. “So, we talk to her.”
Nate nodded once. “Quietly.”
The decision was settled.
They weren’t accusing anyone. They weren’t charging in.
They were checking.
