My stepmother slammed the door in my face after telling me, “Your father was buried 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 found there was no grave… only a secret letter that could destroy her.

PART 1

“Your father died a year ago, Finnley, and this house isn’t yours anymore,” Reagan said without even looking at me. “So don’t make a scene. Just get out.”

I’d just walked out of Oakwood Prison after three long years for a robbery I never committed. My hands were shaking as I held an old backpack, wearing the cheap clothes somebody had lent me.

And I was finally standing in front of the house where I grew up.

For 1,095 nights, I’d pictured my dad opening this door. I always saw him sitting in his old leather chair, looking at me and saying, “Hang in there, son.

The truth always finds a way out.” I really needed to believe Camden Dennis was still alive.

But when I got to the Silver Lake neighborhood, nothing felt like home anymore.

The front of the house had been painted some fancy gray, and my dad’s favorite rose bushes were completely gone. A big white luxury SUV and a shiny red car sat in the driveway.

Even the front door was different—black, glossy, with a modern digital lock. The house looked the same from the outside, but it felt totally soulless.

I knocked hard on the door. I didn’t knock like a guest. I knocked like a son.

Reagan opened it wearing a green dress and pearl earrings. My stepmother looked at me like I was a nasty stain on her new carpet.