My stepmother sl:ammed the door in my face after telling me, “Your father was bu:ried without you.” I didn’t scream, I didn’t beg; I walked straight to the cemetery with my prison clothes still in my backpack. But there I discovered there was no grave… only a secret letter that could destroy it.

The court notices went out 11 days later. The judge immediately froze all of Carter’s bank accounts, demanded records for his fake companies, and ordered an emergency review of my old case.

That same afternoon, Reagan called my phone.

“Finnley, honey,” she said in a fake sweet voice that made me sick. “I just got some crazy legal papers. I don’t know what people are telling you, but we should talk about this as a family.”

“Family members don’t frame innocent people and send them to prison, Reagan,” I said.

The line went quiet for a second, and then her nice voice completely disappeared.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with,” she whispered angrily. “You’re just a convict. Do you really think a judge is going to believe you?”

I looked at the USB drive on the table.

“You don’t have to believe me, Reagan. You just have to listen to my dad.”