The deputy pushed him against the side of the truck, searching his pockets.

Another deputy arrived, parking behind the first patrol car.

They began to search the cab of Dorian’s truck.

I stood by the front fender, watching the flashlights sweep over the leather seats.

One of the deputies reached into the glove box, pulling out a small wooden box.

My breath caught in my throat.

I recognized that box.

It was my father’s military presentation case.

The deputy opened it, the beam of his flashlight illuminating the contents.

Inside, lying on the blue velvet, were my father’s Bronze Star and his silver intelligence insignia.

But there was something else in the box, tucked beneath the medals.

A small, folded piece of yellowed paper.

The deputy pulled it out, unfolding it carefully.

My phone in my pocket vibrated violently, a number I didn’t recognize flashing on the screen.

I slid the phone out and swiped to answer, my eyes still fixed on the paper in the deputy’s hand.

A voice I hadn’t heard in five years spoke on the other end.

“Maren?”

It was Mr. Voss.