At my father’s graveside, the gravedigger gripped my arm and whispered, “Sir, your father paid me to bury an empty coffin.” Before I could even speak, he pushed a brass key into my hand. “Don’t go home,” he warned.

Federal Bureau of Investigation.

My stomach dropped.

“Mr. Vance,” she said, “your father told us you would come alone.”

I looked at the key.

Then at Unit 17.

The storage door was only twenty feet away, but suddenly that distance felt impossible.

“What’s inside?” I asked.

The agent’s face tightened.

“Enough to explain why your father needed an empty coffin.”

Then my phone began to ring.

My mother again.

The agent looked at the screen, then back at me.

“Do not answer that,” she said.

And behind her, inside Unit 17, something started to beep…