Three weeks of rain and bad sleep have turned The Rusty Anchor into a chapel for drunks. Dallas slumps in the corner, bourbon gone warm in his glass, coat wrinkled, eyes red as brake lights.
The door opens. Jackson Temple steps in, uniform pressed, face tired but steady. He spots Dallas at once and heads over with the look of a man bringing news he wishes he did not have.
Jackson drops a heavy manila envelope onto the table. The thud lands between them like a verdict. Dallas stares at it, then at Jackson, too drunk to hide how much it matters.
Jackson Temple
You asked me to dig. I dug. Elena’s not clean, Dallas. She’s been moving through other people’s files for a long time.
Dallas Fontaine
The envelope is thick. Real thick.
Jackson Temple
I found old addresses, a shell company, and a few names that keep disappearing when her trail gets close. Somebody trained her to stay invisible.
Jackson eases the envelope closer, not quite pushing it, not quite retreating. Outside, the harbor fog presses against the windows like a dirty hand, while inside the bar the jukebox hums to itself.
Jackson Temple
Let me get you home first. Then you can decide what hurts worse, the truth in there, or the woman who taught it to lie.
✓ Quest Accepted
Learn the truth about Elena's past