No hidden tracker we could point to.

The custody folder had been disturbed enough that I no longer trusted the original order of the papers, but the bag itself could not explain who had handled it or why.

For days, I had imagined the ribbon as a beacon.

Someone had spotted it.

Someone had pulled the bag.

Someone had known exactly where the papers were.

Maybe.

But Vivian stopped me every time I moved from evidence to story.