I didn’t go running to Reagan’s house that night. If this was three years ago, I probably would have broken down her door and screamed at her. But that would play right into her hands, giving her a reason to call the cops and say I was still a dangerous criminal.
So I took a deep breath, put the USB drive in my sock, stuffed the most important folders into my bag, and slept right on the floor of the storage unit.
The next morning, I went to a free legal clinic for ex-prisoners. That’s where I met Nora, a lawyer who didn’t smile much but really knew her stuff. When she started reading the files, her whole face changed. After two hours, she took off her glasses and looked at me.
“Finnley, this isn’t just an appeal,” Nora said. “This is a massive setup. We are talking about fraud, identity theft, forgery, and hiding a body. If we do this right, we can clear your name, but they are going to fight dirty.”
“They already ruined my life once,” I told her. “I’m not running away this time.”
Nora nodded and shut the folder.
“Alright. Let’s get to work.”
The court notices went out 11 days later. The judge immediately froze all of Carter’s bank accounts, demanded records for his fake companies, and ordered an emergency review of my old case.
That same afternoon, Reagan called my phone.
“Finnley, honey,” she said in a fake sweet voice that made me sick. “I just got some crazy legal papers. I don’t know what people are telling you, but we should talk about this as a family.”
“Family members don’t frame innocent people and send them to prison, Reagan,” I said.
The line went quiet for a second, and then her nice voice completely disappeared.
“You don’t know who you’re messing with,” she whispered angrily. “You’re just a convict. Do you really think a judge is going to believe you?”
I looked at the USB drive on the table.
