“Then, about ten years later, Varga rebuilds it. Cleaner. Quieter.”
Burke’s voice stayed low.
“And he comes back here.”
A single nod.
“Because it already worked.”
Grant pushed off the doorframe.
“What does that mean?”
Tessa looked between them.
“It means something happened on that ridge in ’99 that should’ve blown everything open… and didn’t.”
Stillness settled in.
“The local sheriff investigated,” she said. “A woman disappears. And the whole thing gets contained.”
Scout’s jaw tightened, his posture remaining unyielding.
Grant looked away briefly.
“You’re saying they came back because of him.”
“I’m saying Vance Varga doesn’t gamble,” Tessa replied. “He uses places that hold. Small towns. Limited oversight. Predictable responses.”
A beat.
“And Jackson County already proved it could be managed.”
Burke didn’t move.
Grant shifted his focus.
“And Cal.”
Tessa exhaled.
“Callum Hollis doesn’t show up anywhere. No shell companies. No manifests. No bleed.”
“Or he’s buried deeper,” Grant said.
“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe he doesn’t know what his father built.”
That hung there.
Burke leaned forward.
“What about Clara Vale?”
This time, Tessa didn’t answer right away.
She pulled a thin folder from her case and set it on the desk.
“Clara Vale reports something she shouldn’t have seen,” she said. “Remote ridge. Night activity. Aircraft where there shouldn’t be any.”
