Sandra said she would need time to verify the evidence and speak with the people whose land had been taken. "Three days at least for the first review," she said. "Probably much longer before the whole thing is ready. Stories like this deserve accuracy more than speed."
Nolan spent the next several days in a strange suspension between two lives. In one, he was still unemployed and grieving, still making rice because it was inexpensive, still trying to repair a truck whose heater worked only when it felt like it. In the other, his father had a face, a voice, a name that might still be alive somewhere two states east. People called with updates about land records, interviews, and legal referrals. Silas checked on him without demanding conversation, sometimes sending a brief message that simply asked whether he had eaten. Nolan found the practical concern more comforting than any speech about brotherhood could have been.
He thought often about Marcus. The friend had disappeared from his usual apartment, and Nolan no longer knew whether he had left voluntarily or on someone's instructions. He gave investigators the phone number, dates, and details of their friendship, then tried not to turn every memory into an accusation. There had been evenings when Marcus brought food during Carla's worst months and stayed to wash dishes without being asked. Nolan could not know what had been genuine. His father had warned on the tape against mistaking suspicion for fact, and Nolan found himself grateful for that difficult inheritance.
On the fourth day Reyes called. The old man had the habit of beginning with the important sentence rather than wasting time on greetings. "We confirmed the man in the photograph," he said. "Daniel Cross lives in Marrow's Gap. He runs a small repair business."
"The address is current." Nolan closed his eyes. Reyes continued, "Francis knew of him through someone who'd monitored Pike's dealings. The man has kept a low profile, but he's there. I've checked through independent sources."
Nolan held the phone without speaking. He had spent nearly a week asking questions whose answers depended on other people, and now one answer had been placed in his hands. A location was not a reunion. A name was not an explanation. Yet the words he's there entered him with a force that made the rest of the room seem very far away. Reyes waited patiently until Nolan managed to say thank you.
He went to the clubhouse that evening. The Iron Ravens were gathered around a card game and a motorcycle engine partly disassembled on a bench near the garage entrance. It was the first time Nolan had seen them without a crisis pressing against the walls. Theo argued cheerfully with Decker about a repair estimate. Someone was making stew in a pot large enough for a construction crew. The place smelled like work and dinner, and Nolan felt a surprising reluctance to disturb its ordinary peace with news that mattered enormously to him.