The Langford Trust headquarters didn't look corrupt.

It looked pristine.

White stone. Tall glass. A massive silver plaque with her family's name etched across the front like a crown.

But Averie knew better now.

She walked through the front doors with Wes by her side - clean clothes, bruises fading, jaw still tight from the fight he hadn't explained yet.

They weren't here for a confrontation.

Not yet.

They were here for what Evelyn left behind.

Averie flashed her ID. Still had clearance. Her last name was still currency - even if she hated what it bought.

They were escorted to the archives room in the basement. It wasn't as dramatic as the vault - just rows of labeled boxes, old financial records, and dusty file cabinets humming under flickering fluorescent lights.

"Evelyn Langford," Averie said, scanning the shelves. "She founded the trust. There has to be something personal."

Wes pulled out a drawer marked "Founding Projects - 1983-1991."

Inside - photos, signed approvals, hand-annotated notes.

And tucked in the back -

A journal.

Worn leather. Labeled only with a soft silver E.

Averie opened it slowly, fingers trembling.

"They said I was lucky. That I had a purpose. But they never asked if I chose it."

"Samuel was the only thing I chose. And when I chose him, they chose to erase

me."

"I think I'm being followed again. It's not Langford security. I know those men.

This one's different."

A chill ran down her spine.

"Keep reading," Wes said, leaning in.

"He calls himself Ray. He says he knew my mother. That she trusted him. I don't know if it's true. But he says the trust is being used for more than charity. That someone's laundering money through Evelyn's name."

Wes looked at her. "This goes deeper than we thought."

Averie nodded. "This isn't just family shame. It's criminal."

She flipped to the final page. Her grandmother's handwriting was frantic.

"They won't let me talk. They say I'm confused. But I'm not. If you're reading this,

find Ray. He knows where they sent me. Where they buried the rest of me."

Averie swallowed hard. "Ray. That's the key."

Wes stepped back, thinking. "Check the old payroll records. If he was tied to the trust, even unofficially - he may have left a trail."

They dug. File after file. Half an hour in, Wes froze.

"Got something," he said. "Ray Matheson. Former groundskeeper. Employed 1985 to 1987. Terminated for 'unreliable behavior.' No forwarding address. No death certificate."

Averie whispered, "He's alive."

Wes nodded. "And if we find him - he might be the last person who saw your grandmother free."

That night, they went to Hazel.

She took one look at the journal and cursed under her breath.

"Ray Matheson?" she said. "I haven't heard that name in thirty years. But I remember him. Tall. Quiet. Smoked like a chimney. Evelyn trusted him. Said he looked at her like she was real. Not property."

"Do you know where he is?" Averie asked.

Hazel nodded slowly. "Last I heard, he was out past the train tracks. Old trailer by the tree line. Lives off the grid. Doesn't answer to anyone."

Averie exchanged a glance with Wes.

"We're going," she said.

Hazel caught her wrist. "Be careful, girl. That man's got ghosts wrapped around him tighter than most people wear skin. If he talks - he'll bleed doing it."

Averie looked down at her grandmother's name scrawled across the journal.

"Then it's time to bleed."