“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.”