Someone in Greenfield knew the invitation had reached my desk at Scott Air Force Base.

Someone knew Gerald was waiting for me at table twenty-two.

I sat in the dark car while the engine idled beneath the floorboards.

The text message stayed open on the screen, five miles from the main gate.

The wording was deliberate, designed to make me hesitate.

Gerald had spent thirty years controlling Greenfield through leverage, debt, and quiet warnings passed along through other people.

Whoever sent the text knew how Gerald operated, but they did not know that three hours of highway were nothing compared to fifteen years of exile.