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 letter ended with: They made you take the blame for something you didn’t do. I love you, son. Dad.

The gardener, Thomas, lent me some money so I could take a bus to the industrial side of town.

“Your dad used to come to the cemetery when he was very sick,” Thomas told me quietly. “He said you needed to leave prison with the truth in your hands.”

The storage place sat right in the middle of a sketchy area full of auto shops and warehouses. The key worked perfectly on lock 108. I pulled up the metal door, and a huge cloud of dust hit my face.

Inside, there wasn’t any old furniture or junk. It looked like a crime lab.

There were rows of white boxes and folders labeled “BANK STATEMENTS”, “FORGERY”, “CARTER”, and “REAGAN”. On a small table in the corner, I saw a black USB drive with a note: Watch this first.