I turned the laptop screen so that my father could see it.

“He gave all of it to me,” I said.

“Everything he had.

Because he knew he might not get the chance to bring it forward himself.” My father leaned toward the screen, and I watched him begin to read, and I watched the blood drain slowly from his face as he saw what was there.

Because among the water samples and the manifests and the sworn statements of strangers, there was a document he recognized.

There was a document with his own name on it.