“The papers link Darton Freight to Marwick Agro Holdings,” Lobo said quickly. Lobo glanced nervously at Simon before continuing."I never asked questions," he said. "People who ask questions around the Marwicks don't stay around very long."Simon remained silent.Lobo took Simon's silence as permission to continue speaking.“Darton moves equipment, fuel, and spare parts under fake agricultural logistics. Officially, it is farm machinery, irrigation parts, and fuel for rural supply routes. In reality, some shipments are for oil sites that are not supposed to exist.” Lobo continued.Simon opened one file and saw transfer papers stamped with farm distribution codes. “Which oil sites?”Lobo instinctively looked toward the depot entrance as though expecting someone to appear. "There are cameras everywhere in their businesses," he muttered. "Sometimes I feel like they know every word we speak."Simon answered calmly. "I assure you, they are not listening tonight."Lobo hesitated.Simon’s h

Lobo’s final confession turned the ruined depot into something colder than a battlefield.Simon stood over him, holding the black case, the blue flash drive, and the document tube that had started the night’s trouble. Around them, Harron Fuel Storage remained silent except for the weak car alarm, the groans of defeated men, and the distant hum of fuel tanks.Simon looked down at Lobo. “Every Thursday evening?”Lobo nodded quickly, his face wet with sweat and fear. “Yes. Harold Mace comes himself. I swear. He updates the ledgers at Warehouse 17. Please, I have told you everything.”Simon studied him for several seconds.Simon placed the flash drive into his pocket and closed the black case. Lobo watched every movement like a man watching the judge write his sentence. “You said I could live,” he whispered. “You said if I cooperated, I could walk away.”Simon looked at him. “You are still breathing.”Lobo’s lips trembled. “I will leave Betford tonight. I will disappear. I will not warn t

“Simon, are you in?” Pierce asked through the earpiece, his voice was low and tense.Simon stood just inside Warehouse 17, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The heavy door had closed behind him with a soft metal breath, cutting off the fog and leaving him inside a long storage corridor that smelled of dust, old grain, engine oil, and paper. A weak yellow bulb flickered above stacked crates marked with innocent names: Irrigation Pumps, Farm Equipment, Fertilizer Records, and Rural Support Tools.“I am in,” Simon replied quietly.Pierce exhaled through the line. “What do you see?”“Honestly speaking all I see here are lies,” Simon said.He moved forward with careful steps, avoiding loose gravel scattered across the concrete floor. The crates looked ordinary from a distance, but several crates had fresh hinges, new screws, and locks too expensive for abandoned farming supplies. Simon crouched beside one marked Fertilizer Records and ran his gloved fingers along the edge.Pierce’

“That should be the Marwick convoy,” Simon said. “They came early.”Pierce’s voice tightened through the earpiece. “Simon, get out now. If that convoy enters while you are still inside, you will be trapped between the archive and the guards outside.”Simon looked away from the dirty window and returned to the wall map. “No, not yet.”Pierce almost snapped. “Not yet? You already have the map.”“I have the map,” Simon said, sliding his phone back into position. “I need the ledgers, drilling rights, oil allocations, and routing codes. Pictures are good. Copies are better.”The truck engines grew louder outside. Men were speaking near the loading bay, their voices were low and businesslike. Simon moved quickly, but not carelessly. He opened the clipped file beneath the map again and photographed the remaining pages, capturing the cover companies, weekly routes, false farm permits, and handwritten initials beside several movement schedules.Pierce whispered, “Simon, how much longer before

Silas’s question settled over the meeting room like a blade placed gently on a table.Pierce kept his expression neutral, though he knew exactly what Silas was doing. “This is Officer Simon Gallagher,” he said, resting one hand on his notebook. “He reviews agricultural transport compliance for state-linked companies. Since your warehouse concerns agricultural operations, his presence is official.”Damon stared at Simon for a moment, then laughed under his breath. “Agricultural transport compliance?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Commissioner, we reported an invasion, not missing fertilizer bags.”Simon did not react. He sat quietly, hands relaxed on his lap, eyes steady on the brothers as if every insult was only more information.Pierce noticed Simon's calmness and wondered if the younger man even felt the insults. Most officers would have defended themselves by now or argued back. Simon simply watched every face around the table, almost as though he was measuring people inst