Chapter 231 opens with Saint seated at her office desk late into the night, her focus locked onto the thick file labeled Macauley. The quiet hum of the desk lamp seems almost mocking as she rereads the sequence of events tied to Richie Montrose and Nix, both of whom had left a devastating trail behind them. Saint is no stranger to stress, but the situation at hand feels heavier than any case she has handled since stepping into this role. Earlier, she had told Deputy Michaels he could head home, thinking the night would wind down quietly. Yet Michaels, sensing the gravity of what was unfolding, had remained close by, offering silent support. Saint appreciated it, though she didn’t say so aloud. With every page turned in the file, she was drawing closer to truths she might not be ready to face. Her instincts warned her: what she would find might change everything.

As the clock neared midnight, Saint tried to mentally connect what she knew so far. Nix had made a deliberate choice—he had taken a weapon and traveled to Darby Falls, where he ended Richie Montrose’s life with a single act of violence. There had been no hesitation in the report, no ambiguity in the physical evidence. Even if Marty Tooms’s explanation about the dog held weight, it failed to change the fact that the blood found on his property belonged to Callie Montrose. That bloodstain spoke louder than words, casting a grim shadow over his entire narrative. Saint couldn’t ignore the growing implications, and yet, her gut still told her there was more hidden beneath the surface. The feeling of something unresolved gnawed at her, pulling her deeper into the mystery. Each clue seemed like a fragment of a much larger, more dangerous truth waiting to be uncovered.

As Saint stood to pack up for the night, her phone rang, its shrill tone breaking the stillness and jarring her out of her thoughts. Expecting Himes to be checking in again, she answered briskly, only to find Lucy Alston from the forensic lab on the other end. Lucy’s voice was calm but firm, a tone that signaled she had news that couldn’t wait until morning. Saint’s mind instantly jumped to the envelope found at the Montrose crime scene, the one marked with the chilling phrase: I’ll see you in hell. The handwriting had haunted her since the moment she saw it, but Lucy was about to offer more than speculation. “We have a match,” Lucy stated, and Saint immediately felt her body stiffen. The prints belonged to Nix. The realization hit her hard—not just because of the confirmation, but because it dragged her deeper into a past that refused to stay buried.

Still processing that bombshell, Saint pressed Lucy for more details, hoping there was something—anything—that could add more clarity or direction. What Lucy said next only deepened the mystery: there were additional matches found on the envelope. Fingerprints from Martin Tooms and Joseph Macauley had also been identified, widening the web of connection far beyond what Saint had prepared herself for. Each of those names carried history, weight, and scars, and now they were linked by forensic evidence at a murder scene. The implications spun in her mind like a storm, unsettling and unrelenting. How could all three of these men be tied to that single envelope? Was it a collaborative message, or did someone intend to frame the others?

Her thoughts churned as a dull ache began to rise behind her eyes, the tension growing unbearable. She felt the weight of each clue, each revelation, stack like bricks on her chest. There was too much ambiguity—too many emotional undercurrents to ignore. The investigation, instead of narrowing, had just opened another layer that challenged her understanding of loyalty, revenge, and justice. As she sat back down, her hands hovered over the Macauley file once again, the evidence now staring back with greater force. This wasn’t just about who had pulled the trigger. It was about an entire legacy of silence, sacrifice, and buried truths, each inching closer to the surface. And Saint knew, with sinking certainty, that the answers weren’t going to bring peace—they were going to tear things apart.