“Gabe had a system set up,” she explains. “It alerts him whenever someone accesses files related to these names. And look at the source of the latest activity.”

I follow her finger to the line of text.

“Activity Source: 153.31.100.0”

The numbers mean nothing to me at first, just a string of digits, but I know better than to assume they’re random.

“Care to clue us in on what that means?” I ask, keeping my voice even despite the way my stomach twists.

“It means that someone from the FBI is now looking into this.” Mo’s fingers hover over the keyboard. “I tracked the IP address to the FBI network. I’m not sure where the other source is from, it looks like a town in Alabama, but I’m not sure who would be looking into this from there. It looks like it was the morning of Gabe’s death. Some place called Huntsville. I’ve never heard of it but they have a ton of engineering firms out there.”

Beside me, Bennett stiffens, his breath hitching just enough for me to notice.

“Wait—what?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a blade.

Mo nods, gaze flicking back to the screen. “The morning he died, there were multiple alerts. Someone was trying to access these files. And it wasn’t the FBI.”

Bennett takes a step back, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers gripping tight like he’s trying to hold onto a shred of stability. His throat works as he swallows hard.

“That was me.”

The words land like a gut punch, knocking the breath from the room.

I stare at him, my mind scrambling to catch up, but the math is already working itself out in the back of my head. He was looking into this the same morning Gabe died. That can’t be a coincidence. Nothing about this situation feels like a coincidence anymore.

Bennett looks shaken, his usual confidence stripped raw. The way his hands tremble at his sides, the way his gaze darts toward the floor like he’s searching for answers in the worn carpet—it’s enough to make my stomach twist.

I open my mouth to speak, to ask him what the hell he was doing, why he was digging around in Gabe’s files that morning, but nothing comes out.

Because deep down, I already know.

And if I’m right all he was doing was looking into his family.

I turn toward him, trying to meet his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I was the one accessing those files,” he says, guilt etched into every line of his face. “That’s when I started digging into my family’s history, trying to figure out how it all connected. I didn’t know anyone would have something set up to track it.”

Mo’s eyes widen. “You’re saying you triggered those alerts?”