He stood in the driveway, a dark silhouette against the flashing blue lights, watching me back away.

The gravel crunched under my tires as I turned onto the main road.

The rain started again, a steady drizzle that smeared the autumn leaves against my windshield.

I drove south toward Ellison University, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Every pair of headlights in my rearview mirror made my stomach drop.

I kept expecting a siren, or my father’s black SUV to appear out of the gray mist.

The heavy bag of documents sat on the passenger seat beside me.

I reached over and touched the worn leather, seeking some kind of comfort.

Inside were the papers my grandmother had signed before her stroke.

They were the only proof I had left.

I took the exit for the university, the familiar brick gates appearing through the rain.

Instead of turning toward my dormitory, I steered toward the campus library.

It was a massive, gothic building with dozens of quiet alcoves.

My phone buzzed in the cup holder.

Arthur’s name lit up the screen.