My sister called at 6:30 in the morning and told me our father had died during the night. The problem was that Dad was sitting three feet away from me, wearing his navy robe, drinking my coffee, and stealing bacon from my plate. For several seconds, I simply stared at Vanessa’s name glowing on my phone. My older sister almost never called before noon. She especially never called me that early unless she wanted something, so when the phone started vibrating across the kitchen table, I assumed there had been some kind of emergency. I had no idea the emergency was going to be completely invented. Dad reached across the table for another strip of bacon while I answered. “Vanessa?” For the first couple of seconds, I heard nothing but a car engine and the steady click of a turn signal. Then she said it. “Natalie, Dad died last night.” My hand stopped halfway to my coffee. Across from me, Dad stopped chewing.

“She’s listed as an authorized contact on one old family account.”

Dad stared down at the phone.

“I forgot she was still on it.”

The request had failed because of an additional verification step.

But it explained the temporary service interruption.

And suddenly the fake death call felt different.

It was no longer just cruelty.

Someone had been checking the funeral contract.

Someone had contacted Dad’s attorney.

Someone had tried to interfere with his phone.

And Vanessa had called me before sunrise to tell me he was dead while she and Grant were driving toward his house.

Dad stood.

“Get dressed.”

“Where are we going?”

“My house.”

I looked at him.

“You really think they’ll go in?”

“They told us they were going through my office.”

“They also know you’re alive now.”

Dad picked up his keys from the counter.

“People who already made one bad decision tend to make another when they panic.”

He was right.

By the time we reached his neighborhood, Vanessa’s SUV was parked beside the curb.