After 3 years in prison, I came home to find my father dead and my stepmother in his house. “He was buried a year ago,” she said coldly. She didn’t know he’d left me a secret letter with a key. It led me to a storage unit, and a video he’d made before he d;ie;d. “She framed you,” he said.

I lifted the rolling door. Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight that cut through the darkness.

And the world my father had hidden opened in front of me.

It wasn’t junk. It was an archive.

Boxes stacked neatly, labeled in thick black marker:

PHOTOS
BUSINESS — 2016–2019
LEGAL
BANK — STATEMENTS
MEDICAL
IMPORTANT

A metal filing cabinet sat in the back, secured with a small padlock. And on top of one box was another envelope. This one was smaller. And it had one word written on it:

FIRST.

I opened it. Inside was a flash drive, taped to a sticky note.

The note said: “Watch before you read.”

My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm. I found my old phone in my bag—cheap and basic, something the reentry program had provided. It could still play videos. I plugged in the flash drive using the adapter Harold had included in the envelope without me noticing.

A folder popped up. One video file. Titled: “Eli — The Truth.”