For three years, everyone had told him the truth about his case had already been decided.
But his father had apparently prepared something for him before his supposed death.
Finnley looked back at the groundskeeper.
“But where is my father buried?”
The old man’s expression tightened.
“Not here.”
Finnley’s fingers closed around the key.
“Then where?”
The groundskeeper swallowed.
“And if you want to know why, don’t go back to that woman just yet.”
Finnley looked down at the envelope.
For the first time since leaving prison, his grief was being replaced by something else.
A question.
Not whether Camden Dennis had died.
But why Reagan had lied about where he was.
Finnley opened the envelope with shaking hands.
The first line was written in his father’s unmistakable handwriting.
“Son, if you’re reading this, Reagan has already started lying to you.”
Finnley read the sentence twice.
Then a third time.
The cemetery seemed to grow quieter around him.
He looked at the groundskeeper.
“He knew this would happen?”
