"At my father’s graveside, the gravedigger gripped my arm and whispered, “Sir, your father paid me to bury an empty coffin.” Before I could even speak, he pushed a brass key into my hand. “Don’t go home,” he warned. “No matter who calls, no matter what they say. Go to Unit 17 on Route 9. Right now.” Then my phone buzzed. A text from my mother appeared on the screen. Come home alone. My father had been buried less than five minutes earlier. Or so I believed

I looked at the thumb drive sitting on the metal table.

"I'm a history teacher, Dad. I grade papers. I don't rob cartel vaults."

"I know, son," Arthur said gently. "But if we don't hand that ledger over to the DOJ, Evelyn will hunt you and your family for the rest of your lives. The cartel never forgets a debt. We cut the head off the snake tonight, or we spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders."

Agent Keller walked into the room, spreading a blueprint across the table.

"The vault is located beneath an abandoned meatpacking plant on the south side of the city," Keller explained. "Evelyn uses it as a staging ground. We have a thirty-minute window before her reinforcement teams arrive from the border. My team will handle the guards. You just need to walk up to the vault, press your thumb to the scanner, and grab the black leather book inside."

I looked toward the bedroom where my wife and children were sleeping. I thought about Evelyn—the woman who had lied to me, manipulated me, and threatened to murder my sons.

"Gear me up," I said.

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a BearCat armored vehicle, wearing a Kevlar vest over my funeral suit. Keller sat across from me, checking the chamber of her rifle.

"Stay behind my shield," Keller ordered as the vehicle came to a screeching halt outside the rusted gates of the meatpacking plant. "Do not engage. Just open the door."