Chapter 163| Narrowing the Field
Farrow’s promised update arrived nine days later, considerably later than her own initial estimate, and Allen recognized immediately, the moment her face appeared on the call, that whatever she’d found had cost her more effort than she’d originally anticipated.
"We narrowed it," she said without preamble, exhaustion evident beneath her focused, professional composure. "Not to a name yet, but to a role. The fragment references someone described as a ’facilitator’ — recurring contact, financial or logistical support, rather than direct operational involvement."
"A facilitator," Myria repeated slowly. "Meaning someone who enabled Reginald’s work without necessarily knowing its full scope."
"That’s my working theory," Farrow confirmed. "Organizations like this rarely recruit everyone with full disclosure. Someone providing quiet, useful support might genuinely believe they’re doing something considerably more mundane — moving funds, providing access, smoothing logistics — without ever understanding the actual, considerable purpose behind it."
Allen absorbed the distinction with careful, deliberate attention. "So we might be looking for someone who doesn’t even know what they’ve actually been part of."
"Possibly," Farrow said. "Which complicates things considerably. If they’re genuinely unaware, exposing them carelessly risks destroying an innocent life over involvement they never properly understood. If they do know, and we approach too gently, we risk losing our best remaining lead."
"How do we tell the difference?" Vivian asked.
"Carefully," Farrow said. "Which is why I haven’t acted on this yet. I wanted your family’s input before proceeding, given how directly this touches your own extended circle."
Allen turned the dilemma over, old, complicated feelings about his own fractured family resurfacing alongside genuine, mounting concern for whoever this unknown, unwitting connection might actually be. "What would you normally do, in a case like this?"
"Surveillance first," Farrow said. "Quiet, careful observation, enough to establish a pattern before any direct approach. It’s slower, but considerably safer for everyone involved, including the investigation itself."
"Do that," Allen said, decision settling with quiet, deliberate certainty. "I’d rather move carefully and get it right than rush toward an answer that ends up hurting someone who never deserved it."
"Agreed," Myria said. "Whatever the truth turns out to be, we owe it to them, and to ourselves, to approach it properly."
Farrow nodded, evident relief settling into her exhausted expression. "I’ll begin discreet surveillance within the week," she said. "It’ll take time. I won’t pretend otherwise."
"We’ve gotten good at patience," Allen said, managing a tired, genuine smile. "Take whatever time you need."
---
Once the call concluded, Allen found himself sitting with the day’s considerable weight a while longer, Myria settling beside him with her own quiet, thoughtful concern still visible.
"You’re thinking about William," she said, recognizing the particular shape of his silence.
"I am," Allen admitted. "I know it’s probably not him. Farrow said facilitator, not orchestrator. But I can’t help turning the possibility over anyway."
"Whoever it turns out to be," Myria said gently, "we’ll face it exactly like everything else. Carefully, together, without letting fear decide the outcome before the evidence actually does."
Allen nodded, drawing quiet strength from her steady, familiar reassurance, and let the evening’s mounting uncertainty settle into something he could, for now, carry alongside everything else Hegeville’s continued, hopeful transformation still demanded of him.
"Whoever it is," he said finally, "I hope it’s someone who genuinely didn’t know. I don’t think I have room left this year for another betrayal from someone I actually trusted."
"Then let’s hope Farrow’s instincts prove right," Myria said softly, and drew him close.
They sat together a while longer, the evening settling quietly around them as Hegeville’s own considerable lights flickered on, one by one, against the gathering dark, and Allen found his thoughts drifting, unbidden, toward Susan — toward the careful, halting reconciliation they’d only just begun building, and the uncomfortable possibility that whatever Farrow eventually uncovered might test it long before it had properly finished forming.
"Do you think I should warn her?" he asked. "Susan, I mean. In case this touches closer to her than either of us wants to consider."
Myria considered the question seriously. "Not yet," she said. "Not until we actually know something concrete. A warning without evidence is just another kind of suspicion, and I don’t think that’s fair to extend to her, given how carefully she’s been trying to earn something better from you these past months."
"You’re right," Allen admitted. "I just don’t want to be blindsided again. Not after Reginald."
"None of us do," Myria said. "But we can’t protect ourselves from every possible outcome by assuming the worst of everyone before we have reason to. We watch, we wait, and we trust Farrow’s careful work to tell us the truth when it’s actually ready to be told."
Allen let the reassurance settle, some of his earlier tension easing beneath her steady, considered perspective. He thought, not for the first time, about how differently he might have handled a conversation like this a year ago — quick to suspect, quicker still to act on that suspicion without properly weighing the cost. Myria’s steady patience had taught him something considerable about restraint that he doubted he’d ever fully unlearn now, however uncomfortable it sometimes proved in moments like this one.
"I used to think patience was just another word for avoiding a problem," he admitted. "You taught me it’s usually the opposite. That rushing toward an answer just to feel like you’re doing something is its own kind of avoidance."
"I’m glad that lesson stuck," Myria said softly, genuine warmth breaking through her earlier careful composure. "It cost considerable effort to teach it to someone as stubborn as you."
"I resent that," Allen said, though his own tired smile gave the protest away entirely.
"You’re allowed to resent it," Myria said, amusement threading through her voice. "You’re not allowed to abandon it, though. Not now that it’s finally starting to serve you well."
She paused a moment, studying him with quiet, considering warmth. "For what it’s worth," she added, "I think you’ve grown into someone I genuinely admire, watching you these past several years. Not just stronger. Wiser about when strength should actually be used."
"I had a good teacher," Allen said, drawing her closer.
"You had several," Myria corrected gently. "I simply happened to be the loudest about it."
Together they let the evening’s quiet weight carry them gradually toward rest, one more patient thread added to the considerable, careful tapestry they were still, methodically, working to unravel.