Vivian’s folder trembled in her hands when the office door opened. Two men entered. One wore a suit and carried a briefcase. The other wore a plain jacket with a badge clipped to his belt.

The detective introduced himself and explained that he was investigating a document Vivian had submitted to Oakridge Cemetery. It was a letter of authorization bearing the signature of her father, Walter.

Vivian immediately became pale.

“That’s absurd,” she said. “My father signed that before he passed.”

Mr. Whitcombe calmly slid the document across the table. “Your father died in September. This letter is dated December fourth.”

Silence filled the room.

Vivian looked at the document, then at me, and finally at the green folder still lying on the table. Inside was a form from 2015, its second paragraph waiting to be read.

“Read paragraph two,” Mr. Whitcombe said gently.

Vivian’s hands began shaking.

Because what that paragraph contained could destroy the story she had been telling everyone.