While Leo was making love at home, Jonathan was pacing through the empty lumber yard.
Dragging his exhausted body, he walked every corner of the grounds.
Finally, he slumped onto a tree stump and lit a cigarette with trembling hands. His eyes were bloodshot, and a cold chill gripped his chest.
"Too clean…" he muttered to himself. For someone who prided himself as a detective, not finding a single trace was a humiliation.
Jonathan wasn't a generous man. Leo's parting words had struck him as an insult. He needed revenge. A sheriff's authority mattered.
So he returned to the station and immediately began digging into everything Leo had done since returning to town.
But the deeper he looked, the deeper his frown became.
Leo was the son of a lumber worker. His father had once led the lumber union.
Leo was dating Emily—the daughter of Michael Brown.
Their date had coincided with the attack on Dot. Leo killed three assailants and saved Dolores.
The last attacker had been brought in by Jonathan's own son, Joseph.
As much as Jonathan hated to admit it, he knew full well: Joseph followed Leo's every word like gospel.
Soon after, Michael Brown himself had arrived at the station, claiming he was in danger and asking for protective custody.
So many coincidences—it couldn't possibly be coincidence anymore.
Jonathan was no fool. He had enough information, and he was smart enough to connect the dots.
As Mayor Patrick's most loyal confidant, he knew Patrick had recently been disappointed by a decision Michael Brown had made.
He also knew Rock Meyer, president of the Agricultural Association, had started targeting Michael—apparently with Patrick's tacit approval.
As the town sheriff, Jonathan had intel on the identities of the men seen around the Brown Lumber Yard.
He also had friends among the sheriffs in neighboring towns and knew the kinds of crimes Carlo and his crew had committed elsewhere.
It didn't take a genius to guess Carlo was likely acting on Rock's orders.
Twenty years ago, these people would've been Jonathan's tickets to glory.
But now? The great Washington D.C. detective had been demoted to a small-town sheriff for something as trivial as giving a senator's driver a parking ticket.
From the moment he received his badge from Patrick, Jonathan had stopped believing in idealism.
He had placed quiet faith in Patrick, hoping one day the mayor could help his eldest son, currently studying law at the University of Virginia, break into politics.
That was Jonathan's only chance of returning to D.C.
Years of this dependency meant Jonathan was still trying to complete Patrick's assignments.
But once suspicion of Leo arose, Jonathan interrogated both the surviving attacker from the Dot incident and Michael Brown, who was sleeping soundly in his holding cell.
He got two completely different stories.
Michael's reply was short and obviously a lie.
The terrified attacker, however, confessed everything.
That's what brought Jonathan to the lumber yard this morning.
His reasoning was simple: Even if Rock and his men missed something, he, Jonathan the great detective, wouldn't.
But now, as dawn lit the horizon, Jonathan still hadn't found a single clue.
He'd searched for any sign of Leo—or even his own son, Joseph—but found only the remnants left by Rock's crew.
Like Carlo, Jonathan couldn't understand it. Why would Leo's cousin flee, and leave no trace? That made no sense.
Jonathan's instincts screamed that the absence of evidence was itself a warning. Leo and his people were highly suspicious.
Yet the cold morning breeze cleared his mind. He began questioning not Leo—but himself.
He was already on Leo's boat.
The person who had jumped into the basement and knocked out the attacker… was most likely his own son.
How was he supposed to explain that to Patrick?
To say that the plan Rock had carefully orchestrated was ruined by his own son, Joseph?
Jonathan knew Patrick well. Politicians like him pretended to be generous, but in truth, they held lifelong grudges.
No matter how much you'd done for them, one betrayal meant you were out forever.
Because of Joseph, Jonathan had no real options left.
If he didn't want all his efforts over the years to go to waste, he had only one play:
Pull Patrick away from Rock and his schemes.
Turn the hunter into the prey.
That was Jonathan's best move now.
Besides, Jonathan had begun to suspect that crossing Leo might mean disappearing without a trace.
Sure, maybe the FBI could dig something up. But would anyone lift a finger to find a meaningless small-town sheriff?
Look around—the signs of last night's fight were completely erased.
This went beyond what Jonathan could comprehend. The ability to erase people and events so completely… suffocated him.
"I got played by a twenty-year-old," he muttered, staring at the rising sun.
Leo's words echoed in his mind: "We're on the same side."
His son had clearly hitched himself to someone dangerous—someone smart enough to predict Jonathan's decision a whole day in advance.
Jonathan decided he needed to talk to Patrick.
But first, he rubbed his eyes, nearly glued shut with fatigue. He hadn't slept in nearly three days.
He would go home and rest.
Before that, he gave a quiet order to one of his trusted men:
"Follow Carlo. If he tries to leave town—bring him in."
"On what grounds, Sheriff? He hasn't done anything illegal here."
"Our town doesn't allow gambling!" Jonathan barked.
Back at the factory office, Carlo was pacing, his voice full of frustration.
"So your guarantee turned out to be worth crap?"
"That was a team of four elite killers," he grumbled. "The plan was airtight. I still can't figure out how he managed to protect the girl and take them all down."
"You're useless. An absolute idiot."
RING RING! RING RING!
The piercing sound of the desk phone cut him off. Carlo answered.
Johnny, sitting nearby, could clearly hear Rock Meyer's booming voice on the other end.
Carlo's face shifted from red to pale.
Sweat trickled down his forehead.
When the call ended, he slumped into his chair, ghostly white, and lit a trembling cigarette.
"He didn't leave a single one alive," he muttered.
"I know they're all dead," Johnny snapped. "Why do you keep repeating it?"
"You—ugh…" Carlo opened his mouth, then shut it again.
He wasn't trying to insult Johnny. He was trying to convey something critical:
Leo had done it on purpose.
Someone who could shoot a man clean through the eye in chaos could certainly choose to leave someone alive.
But Leo didn't. That meant he knew who had sent them.
And if that was the case—considering Leo's terrifying skills and decisiveness—Carlo doubted he'd be spared.
He didn't want to go to sleep one night and never wake up.
Carlo took a deep drag on his cigarette, letting the harsh burn clear his mind.
If Johnny didn't get it?
Then let him die.
He crushed the cigarette underfoot and said coldly:
"Johnny, Rock wants me to go to Richmond. While I'm gone, you'll report directly to him."
"Huh? That's… sudden."
Johnny tried to act surprised, but his expression was nothing but glee.
Rock Meyer, personally?
Jackpot.
Johnny silently vowed he would earn Rock's trust—
He had waited far too long for this chance.