Marsh read six drowning files before the pattern hit him. Six dead people, all from Saltcreek. Six identical claims: water damage to a beach house none of them owned. Each one filed exactly three days before they drowned. He printed all six, lined them up on his desk, and stared until his coffee went cold.

Marsh decided to drive to Saltcreek himself. Every claim listed the same address: a beach house at the end of Pelican Road. If six dead people all lied about the same house, he wanted to stand in front of it.

The house at the end of Pelican Road was real, but boarded up and empty for years. A faded sign said it belonged to some trust Marsh had never heard of. He took photos, then spotted fresh tire tracks in the sand out back.

Marsh followed the tracks around the dunes to a small marina. A man was loading boxes of blank claim forms onto a boat — the exact forms his six victims had used. The man looked up, saw Marsh, and froze.

Marsh demanded to know what the forms were for. The man said the fake claim was a signal: fill one out, and a crew came to make sure that person drowned within three days. The claim wasn't a lie. It was an order. Marsh had spent all week reading kill orders.