I thought the worst part of the day would be seeing my mom’s closed casket lowered under a gray October sky.
I was wrong.
After the pastor finished, Grandpa Hank took my elbow and guided me away from the crowd like he had something fragile to protect. His fingers were cold, trembling. “Katie,” he said, voice low, “you can’t trust what you’re seeing.”
I blinked hard. “Grandpa, please. Not today.”
He didn’t let go. He pulled me behind the mausoleum where nobody could hear us and leaned close enough that I smelled the mint on his breath. “Your mother didn’t die the way they told you.”
My throat tightened. “What are you talking about?”
He shoved his hand into his suit pocket and produced a crumpled grocery receipt, a storage-unit key taped to it, and a folded note with my mom’s handwriting. “I found this in the trash behind her apartment two nights before they called me,” he whispered. “She wanted it hidden. But she wanted it found too.”
My stomach flipped. I recognized her slanted “t”s instantly.
I unfolded the note with shaking fingers.
KATIE—IF YOU’RE READING THIS, SOMEONE IS LYING. GO TO UNIT 16. DON’T TRUST THE MANAGER.
“That’s… that’s impossible,” I breathed. “They ID’d her. The hospital called—”
Grandpa’s jaw clenched. “Hospitals make mistakes when powerful people push them. And your mother—she was pushing back.”
Across the cemetery, the funeral home manager—an immaculate guy in a charcoal suit with a name tag that read DANIEL PRICE—was watching us. When our eyes met, he looked away too fast.
Grandpa followed my gaze. “That man has been around every time something went wrong for your mom,” he said. “He’s not just a funeral director. He manages properties. Places where people disappear into paperwork.”
I took a step toward the crowd, my pulse thundering. “We should call the police.”
Grandpa grabbed my wrist again, firmer now. “Not yet. Not until you see what’s in Unit 16. Promise me.”
Daniel Price started walking toward us, calm but purposeful, like he’d been invited. Grandpa’s voice cracked. “Katie… run. Get to the unit. And don’t—”
He stopped mid-sentence, face draining. He clutched his chest and staggered.
“Grandpa!” I shouted, catching him as his knees buckled.
Daniel broke into a jog, eyes sharp. “Is everything okay over here?”
Grandpa’s lips barely moved, but he forced out three words, directly into my ear:
“Sixteen rooms. Motel.”
Then his eyes rolled back—and Daniel Price reached for Grandpa’s pocket.
The EMTs said Grandpa’s episode “looked like a cardiac event,” but I watched Daniel Price too closely to believe in coincidences. While paramedics worked, Daniel hovered like he owned the air around us.
I didn’t give him the chance to “help.” The second the ambulance doors closed, I walked straight past Daniel and kept going, ignoring the sting of fresh gravel cutting through my heels.
“Miss?” Daniel called. “You shouldn’t drive like this.”
I turned, forcing my voice steady. “Stay away from my family.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just doing my job.”
That night, I drove to the storage facility on the edge of town, the kind wedged between a tire shop and a self-serve car wash. The office was closed, but access was 24/7. I used the key, heart hammering, and the gate buzzed open.
Unit 16 sat halfway down a dim corridor of metal doors. I slid the key into the padlock, and it clicked like a gun being cocked.
Inside was a battered laptop, a brown envelope stuffed with photocopies, and a cheap motel key card labeled SUNSET INN—ROOM 16.
My hands shook as I opened the envelope. There were insurance forms, medical billing statements, and a stack of photos taken through a cracked window. In the pictures, an elderly woman sat in a wheelchair, her head lolling, an IV taped to her arm. Another shot showed a clipboard with a list of names and dollar amounts beside them.
One name made my mouth go dry: MARIA SLOANE—my mom.
I powered on the laptop. No password. A folder sat on the desktop labeled PRICE / SUNSET / 16 ROOMS.
The first video loaded.
My mom filled the frame, filmed selfie-style, eyes tired but fierce. “If you’re watching this, it means they went forward,” she said. “Katie, I’m sorry. I tried to protect you.”
I whispered, “Mom…”
She continued, “Daniel Price isn’t just a funeral director. He owns the Sunset Inn. Sixteen rooms. It’s where they cycle patients—mostly seniors—through ‘short stays’ and bill Medicare for treatments they never get. They drug them, move them, forge signatures. And when a family asks questions, someone ‘passes away’ conveniently.”
My chest tightened. The next clip showed a hallway of identical doors, and a voice off-camera said, “Room 16 is the paperwork room. Keep her out of 16.”
Then came the shock: my mom’s voice again, urgent. “They’re planning to use me as the next ‘case.’ I recorded everything. I gave copies to someone I trust. But if you’re holding this, it means I ran out of time.”
Headlights swept across the storage unit’s doorway.
I killed the laptop screen and crouched behind a stack of boxes.
Footsteps crunched outside. A silhouette stopped at my unit. I recognized the polished shoes before I saw his face.
Daniel Price leaned into the darkness and spoke softly, like we were old friends.
“Katie,” he said, “you didn’t think you could take what doesn’t belong to you… did you?”
My lungs forgot how to work.
Daniel stepped inside the unit without rushing, scanning the floor like he was counting evidence. He held his phone in one hand, screen glowing, as if he’d already called someone—or was about to.
I forced my voice out. “My grandpa is in the hospital because of you.”
He laughed once, quick and controlled. “Because of me? No. Because he couldn’t keep secrets.”
I stayed behind the boxes, silently sliding my phone into record mode. “What do you want, Daniel?”
“What I want,” he said, tapping the storage-unit door with two fingers, “is for you to walk away and forget this exists. Your mother made a mess. People like her think they’re heroes. But heroes get tired. They make mistakes.”
“Where is she?” My voice cracked. “Tell me where my mom is.”
He paused—just a beat too long. “She’s gone.”
“Liar.” I came out from behind the boxes, holding the motel key card up between two fingers like a dare. “Sixteen rooms, right? Sunset Inn. Room 16.”
Daniel’s expression hardened. “You have no idea what you’re stepping into.”
“I know enough.” I lifted my phone slightly. “And I know you just admitted you’ve been watching me.”
His eyes flicked to my screen. For the first time, he looked genuinely annoyed. “Put that away.”
“No.”
His shoulders dropped as if he’d decided I wasn’t worth pretending for anymore. “Katie, listen. People don’t care about paperwork crimes. They care about funerals. Death closes doors. That’s why your mother—”
He stopped himself.
My skin went cold. “That’s why my mother what?”
Daniel’s jaw clenched. “You’re smarter than you look.”
A car rolled into the storage lot, tires hissing on gravel. Then another. Blue lights snapped on, reflecting off the metal doors like a strobe.
Daniel’s face changed instantly. Not fear—calculation.
A voice boomed from outside: “Daniel Price! Step out with your hands where we can see them!”
Daniel stared at me, realization dawning. “You set me up.”
I swallowed hard, because the truth was bigger than my courage. “I didn’t,” I said. “She did.”
From behind the officers, a woman stepped forward wearing a baseball cap pulled low. When she lifted her head, my world tilted.
My mom’s eyes met mine—alive, exhausted, and shining with apology.
“Katie,” she said softly. “I couldn’t tell you. The only way to pull him in was to let him think I was dead.”
I covered my mouth, crying and laughing at once. “You… you let me bury an empty casket?”
Her voice broke. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
As Daniel was cuffed and led away, Mom took a step toward me, hands open like she was afraid I’d run. I didn’t. I walked into her arms like I’d been holding my breath for weeks.
And if you’re reading this and thinking, There’s no way I’d forgive that—I get it.
So tell me: What would you do if the person you loved most faked their death to stop someone dangerous—would you forgive them? Drop your answer, because I’m still trying to figure out mine.
