Part 2: My aunt wanted to adopt my little sister after our parents d*ed just to get her hands on the money — she had no idea I had one more card to play.

No answer.

I tried again.

Voicemail.

Then I called the detective who had given me his card after court.

Detective Alvarez answered on the fourth ring.

“Alvarez.”

“It’s Michael Mitchell.”

A pause.

“Michael? Everything okay?”

“No.”

I told him about the call.

Then the car.

Then the key.

He became very quiet.

“Listen to me. Don’t go anywhere tonight.”

“Daniel told me to go to the bank tomorrow.”

“Daniel Reed?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

This one was different.

“Detective?”

“Michael, how long have you known Mr. Reed?”

I frowned.

“Since after the fire.”

“Who introduced you?”

“No one. He contacted me.”

“Why?”

“He said my parents had spoken to him.”

Alvarez muttered something I couldn’t hear.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. Tell me.”

“Stay inside. I’ll come by in the morning.”

“Why are you asking about Daniel?”

“I said we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Then he hung up.

I didn’t sleep at all.

—

At 8:06 the next morning, Alvarez arrived carrying a brown evidence folder.