My 16-year-old son d*ed in an accident while riding home from his best friend's house — a week later, I found his phone with a message that began, "I did everything you asked me to do."

They arrested Gary Mercer on a Thursday morning.

Detective Voss called me while I was at Dana's kitchen table, both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee I hadn't been able to drink.

"Mercer is in custody," she said.

"Pryor was picked up an hour ago at a property in the next county.

We executed warrants on the Hartley Road warehouse and two additional locations simultaneously."

I set the mug down.

"And the accident?"

"That's what I'm calling about.

We need you to come in.

Today, if possible."

Roy drove me.

Voss met us in the same conference room as before, but this time there was a second detective present — older, introduced only as her colleague, Reeves.

"Mercer has been talking," Voss said.

"He's trying to negotiate.

He gave us Pryor on the financial operation without much resistance.

But on the question of October 3rd, he's been careful."

"Careful how?"

"He admits he knew Jeremy had copies of the photographs and the video.

He admits he told Caleb to pressure Jeremy into deleting everything.

He claims that's where his involvement ended."

"He's lying," I said.

"Possibly.

But here's what we have that he doesn't know about yet." Voss opened a folder.

"The traffic camera on Hartley Road malfunctioned because someone filed a false maintenance request with the county traffic authority two days before the accident.

The request was traced to an email account registered to a shell company connected to Pryor's network."

The room was very quiet.

"Someone planned it," I said.

"Someone planned the window," Voss said carefully.

"We are still working to establish direct causation with the accident itself.

But the premeditation around the camera is documented and provable."

Reeves leaned forward.

"Mrs.

Hartley, we'd like you to be present when we confront Mercer with this information.

Not in the room — behind glass.

We want to see his reaction when he realizes what we have."

"Why does my presence matter?"

"It doesn't, technically.

But Mercer has been calm through everything so far.

Controlled.

We think seeing you — knowing that you're the one who brought this to us — may change that."

I thought about Jeremy's notes.

*I don't want to carry this anymore.*

"Fine," I said.

"I'll be there."

They brought Mercer into the interview room twenty minutes later.

He looked older than the man in Jeremy's photographs.

Tired.

He sat down across from Voss and Reeves and folded his hands on the table with the practiced calm of someone who had rehearsed this.

Then Voss slid the traffic camera documentation across the table.

Mercer looked at it.

His hands didn't move.

But the color left his face.

"The email account," Voss said.

"The maintenance request.

Two days before October 3rd."

Mercer said nothing.

"Your partner Pryor is already talking," Reeves said.

"He's telling us the camera was your idea."

Mercer's jaw tightened.

"I want my lawyer."

"Your lawyer is on the way.

But I want you to understand something first." Voss leaned forward slightly.

"A sixteen-year-old boy d*ed on that road.

His mother is in this building right now.

And everything her son left behind — every photograph, every note, every date and time he wrote down because he was scared — is sitting in our evidence room."

Mercer turned his head.

Slowly.

He looked directly at the glass.

He couldn't see me.

But he looked.

"I want my lawyer," he said again.

His voice had changed.

I stepped back from the glass.

Roy was standing behind me.

I didn't turn around.