“You got out earlier than I expected,” she said flatly.

“Where’s my dad?” I asked. She let out a long sigh.

“He died a year ago, Finnley. Cancer. It was fast and painful. It’s over now.”

The ground seemed to shift under my feet.

“And nobody told me? Nobody asked the prison to let me see him?”

Reagan gave a tiny, cruel smile. “Finnley, you went to jail for stealing from your own father’s business. Do you really think he wanted you showing up and ruining his funeral?”

“I didn’t steal anything from him.”

“That’s what you kept saying at the trial. Nobody believed you.”

I tried to look past her, into the hallway. All our old family photos were gone. My mom’s picture wasn’t there, and my dad’s old hat was missing too. The house just had expensive new furniture and smelled like cheap air freshener.

“Let me in,” I pleaded. “I just want to see his room.”