He told reporters I needed privacy. Told me the boys wouldn’t want me to live in denial. Three years after the lake, he asked me to dinner. I said no.

He took it politely — too politely — then slowly disappeared from my life. At least, I thought he had.

The technician finally looked up from his secure laptop. “You need to see this.”

The drive held financial records. Shell companies. Transfers. Scanned threats. Photos of men I’d never seen, standing near our driveway. Then a folder labeled ROUTE.

Inside were maps, gas receipts, fake IDs, birth certificates under new names — and three photographs.

Daniel. Ethan. Noah. All taken after the disappearance.