Page 8 of Torgash

I pull out the bottom drawer, expecting more of the same, when my fingers find something Dawson missed: a manila folder wedged behind other files. I work it free and flip it open, revealing photocopies of bank statements, property deeds, and correspondence between Sheriff Dawson and someone identified only as "RC."

I flip through the papers slowly. Bank statements showing regular deposits to Dawson's account—always the same amount, always from "RC Consulting." Property deeds with Dawson's signature, but the sale prices are too low for the current market. And letters—short, formal correspondence about "mutual interests" and "community development projects."

It takes me three passes through the documents before the pattern becomes clear.

Royce Carvello. RC. Victor Hargrove's nephew, continuing the family operation.

And now I'm wearing the badge he paid to control, wondering how deep this goes.

A knock interrupts my investigation. Santos appears in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, wariness written across his face.

"Thought you might need this," he says, setting the mug on my desk.

"Thanks." I close the folder, noting how his gaze tracks the movement. "Santos, how long have you been working here?"

"Four years next month."

"You must have seen a lot of Dawson's... management style."

His jaw tightens. "Sheriff Dawson ran things his way."

"And Morris? How long's he been around?"

"About the same." Santos shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable. "Look, Sheriff, I know things weren't idealbefore you arrived. But some of us tried to do the job right, even when it wasn't the preferred method."

Some of us. Not all of us. The implication only adds to my assumptions.

"I'm not here to judge the past," I tell him, though we both know that's exactly why I'm here. "I just need to know who I can count on moving forward."

Santos meets my eyes for the first time all morning. "You can count on me, Sheriff. Whatever you need."

"What about the MC? The Ironborn?" I watch his face carefully. "Can I count on them?"

He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "I want to say they're solid. They've done good things for this town, helped people when the system failed them. But they don't exactly coordinate with local law enforcement." His voice drops. "I've been kept out of whatever arrangements they had with Dawson. So honestly, I don't know how they'll work with you."

I study his face, looking for the lie, the evasion. Nothing. At least he's not covering for anyone.

"Fair enough. But right now, you're all I've got." I gesture toward the chaos surrounding us. "So we've got work to do. Starting with figuring out what happened to all these missing files."

Santos straightens despite the exhaustion written across his face, something like relief flickering in his eyes. "What do you need me to do?"

"Take a look around the office. See if you can find any recent reports on property disputes, foreclosures, anything with the initials RC." I tap the folder on my desk. "Check everywhere—file cabinets, storage rooms, even Morris's desk if you have to."

"RC?" Santos frowns. "Why those initials specifically?"

"I wish I knew," I admit. "But it's the only lead I have."

He nods, understanding. "I'll turn this place upside down if I have to."

"That's exactly what I need to hear." Finally, a deputy willing to actually investigate. "Start with Morris's desk. If he's been hiding, there might be a reason."

After Santos heads out to search, I sit alone in the wreckage of Dawson's office, surrounded by evidence of coordinated corruption. The uniform that felt like armor this morning now feels like a target, marking me as the threat to everything Royce Carvello built here.

I spread the remaining files across my desk, creating some semblance of order from Dawson's chaos. All of it pointing to the same coordinated corruption. But as I sort through the papers, questions start forming about the bigger picture.

Where do the Ironborn fit into all this? Helen made it clear that the town sees them as saviors, but what if they are just better at managing the racket than Victor was? What if they've simply replaced one form of control with another?

If they're running their own game, I need to understand what I'm really dealing with—starting with their VP.

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