"Luther."
"Tell him it's the Burnham file. He'll understand."
Specter pulled out his phone. Didn't ask questions.
Luther turned back to face Emmett.
His expression was different now. Not angry.
Something colder than that.
Something that had been waiting 15 years to surface.
"Emmett," he said. "The Burnham file he was talking about, that's my family. 2009. The year I lost everything. My housing, my daughter's custody, my brother's contact information after the county placed him in developmental services and then closed his file without a forwarding address."
Emmett stared.
"The same year Preston Aldridge started working in the county housing office," Luther continued. "Before he was commissioner. When he was just a mid-level official processing wait list corrections."
The pieces were clicking into place.
You could see it happening in Emmett's face.
"He's been doing this for 15 years," Emmett whispered.
"At least," Luther said. "Probably longer. Your family wasn't the first. Mine wasn't either. And if he's still doing it now..."
He stopped.
His hands came out of his pockets. Curled into fists.
Then released.
"Then there are more. A lot more."
"What are you going to do?"
Luther looked at him for a long moment.
Then at the brothers in the room.
Then back.
"I'm going to do what I should have done 15 years ago when I didn't have the tools or the brothers or the proof. I'm going to find every family he displaced. Every file he corrupted. Every dollar he stole. And I'm going to make sure that when he goes down, he goes down so hard there's no appeal. No form letter. No administrative correction."
He walked back to the chair. Sat down.
Leaned forward again. Elbows on knees.
"But first I need you to tell me everything. Every detail. Every number. Every word he said on that phone call. Because you, Emmett Holloway, just became the witness who's been missing from this case since 2009."
Emmett swallowed hard.
"I don't have proof. I didn't record it."
"You don't need a recording," Luther said quietly. "You have the numbers. 372,400. Wire it in thirds. Same way as Birchwood. That's enough to start. That's enough to make Specter pull county records. That's enough to make Rimshot trace financial transactions. That's enough to make me call in every favor I've got with every brother in three chapters."
He reached out.
Took Emmett's unbandaged hand. Held it briefly. Firmly.
The handshake of someone making a deal with a person they considered an equal.
"You walked 6 miles to bring my daughter home. Now I'm going to walk however many miles it takes to bring justice for yours."
Emmett's eyes filled. He blinked hard.
Looked away.
"I don't have a home to bring justice to."
"Yeah," Luther said. "You do."
He let go of Emmett's hand.
Stood.
Looked at Diesel.
"He stays here. 48 hours minimum. Whatever he needs. Food, clothes, medical follow-up. We cover it."
"On it," Diesel said.
Luther looked at Sandstone.
"You sit with him when he wakes up again. Make him comfortable. Get the full story. Record it. I want every detail from the eviction forward."
"Understood."
Then Luther looked at Rimshot.
"You've got until 6:00 a.m. to pull every county record you can access. Wait list modifications. Financial transactions. Anything with Aldridge's name on it. Anything with Ridge Development Partners. Anything that connects to 2009 and the present day. I don't care if you have to stay up all night."
Rimshot grinned.
"I was planning to anyway."
"Good man."
Luther walked to the cot where Lily was sleeping.