The Dog That Wouldn’t Let Go
The funeral home was silent, the kind of silence that presses down on your chest. Only one sound broke through: frantic scratching. My brother Finn’s dog, Scrappy, was clawing wildly at the edge of the polished casket.
At first, people thought it was grief.
But I knew better. It was a warning. The men from Finn’s motorcycle club stood behind me, leather jackets stiff, faces unreadable.
They were supposed to be his family.
Yet, as Scrappy’s paws thudded against the wood, I caught something flicker across their eyes. Not sorrow. Not sympathy.
Fear. Two nights before, Finn had whispered to me on the phone. He’d found something.
Something dangerous.
“They think I don’t know,” he had said. “But Scrappy knows. He always knows.”
Now, in this suffocating room, his words came back like a blade to my chest.
The Secret in the Casket
The funeral director moved to drag Scrappy away, but the dog let out a sharp, protective bark and kept digging at the same spot.
Then came a metallic click. My heart jumped.
A small latch popped open—hidden in the casket’s design. Gasps filled the room.
Scrappy had uncovered a hollow compartment. And inside, nestled in velvet, was a black USB drive.
I barely had time to close my hand around it before Leo—the club’s president—lunged forward.
His grip clamped my wrist, his voice a growl: “Give it to me.”
But Scrappy was faster. With a snarl, he launched himself into the chaos, knocking another biker off balance.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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