The email had no subject line, no body text, and came from an address that looked like a cat walked across a keyboard. But there it was, sitting in Julian’s inbox like a digital landmine: .

The file blinked open. It was a scanned police report from forty-eight hours ago. It described a vehicle abandoned on a mountain road—Julian’s car. But Julian was sitting in his office. He looked out his window. His driveway was empty. The Realization The phone on his desk rang. The caller ID was restricted.

Julian looked down at the floor. Beneath his swivel chair, one of the planks was slightly askew. The Choice