Wes Dalton.
“Rattler,” Kuda whispered.
Reyes looked at him.
“Who?”
“One of ours.”
Wes had ridden with them for nine years.
He had attended Elias's memorial.
He had hugged Elias's mother.
He had helped carry the empty coffin.
Three years after Eylian, he moved to Florida.
Two years later, he died in what police called a boating accident.
Kuda stared at the photograph until his vision blurred.
“Why him?”
Reyes found the answer in the cassette.
They played it in her car.
The recording was poor.
But the voices were clear enough.
Wes.
And another man.
Wes sounded frightened.
“I gave you the route. That was the deal.”
The other voice replied:
“The deal changed.”
“I didn't sign up for murder.”
“You signed up for money.”
Then Wes said the sentence that made Kuda close his eyes.
“Elias wasn't supposed to be there.”
The recording ended.
Kuda sat motionless.
Twelve years of grief rearranged itself.
Wes hadn't intended to kill his brothers.
He had sold a route, perhaps thinking Voss only wanted Sutter.
Then men died.
Elias vanished.
And cowardice finished what greed had started.
Reyes took the evidence.
“Don't tell the others yet.”
“Why?”
“Because if Voss still has someone close to your group, I want him to think we know less than we do.”
Kuda looked at her.
“You think there's another leak?”
“I think Elias was found after twelve years.”
That was answer enough.
They drove to Father Tomas's chapel the next morning.
The priest was eighty-one now.
He recognized Kuda before Kuda introduced himself.
“You took your time.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
Father Tomas smiled.
“I wondered whether I'd die before you arrived.”
Beneath a loose stone behind the altar was a steel compartment.
The brass key opened it.
Inside lay a cylindrical waterproof case.
The ledger was real.
More importantly, it was devastating.
Hundreds of transactions linked Voss Strategic Services to stolen vehicle rings, bribed officials, fraudulent auctions, and payments to shell corporations.
Several names were marked with dates.
One belonged to former FBI supervisor Martin Keating.
Reyes stared at it for a long time.
Then Kuda saw another name.
Wes Dalton.
$75,000.
Paid three days before Eylian.
There was also a final page in Elias's handwriting.
If they find me, don't fight them their way.
Make them answer in daylight.
Kuda read it twice.
Elias knew him well.
Perhaps too well.
Twelve years ago, Kuda would have wanted Voss on an empty highway.
Now he thought of Mara carrying that vest.
He handed the ledger to Reyes.
“Do it right.”
She nodded.
“We will.”
Outside the chapel, Kuda called Ghost.
“Get everyone together tonight.”
“You find it?”
“Yes.”
“What are we doing?”
Kuda looked across the desert.
For twelve years, that landscape had represented death.
Now it represented evidence.
“We're going to make sure nobody makes the same mistake I would've made twelve years ago.”
Thirty-two riders gathered at the clubhouse.
Kuda stood before them with Elias's vest hanging from the back of a chair.
He told them everything.
Wes.
The money.
The recording.
The ledger.
When he finished, silence held the room.
Then Buck slammed his fist against the table.
“Where's Voss?”
Kuda expected the question.
“Doesn't matter.”
“The hell it doesn't.”
“He's being investigated.”
A younger rider named Chase stood.
“We've got thirty bikes right here.”
“And that's exactly why we're not going.”
Chase stared at him.
“He took Elias.”
“Yes.”
“He killed people.”
“Yes.”
“And we're supposed to sit here?”
Kuda walked toward him.
“No. We're supposed to grow up.”
The room went still.
Kuda looked around.
“I spent twelve years imagining what I'd do if I found the man responsible for Eylian. Every version ended the same way: me standing over somebody broken.”
He pointed toward the vest.
“You know what Elias did instead? He survived. He hid evidence. He protected his daughter. And when he finally came home, he didn't ask us to kill anyone.”
Kuda's voice lowered.
“He asked us to make them answer in daylight.”
Ghost nodded first.
Then June.
Slowly, the room settled.