Mara reads closer. Each name has a date, a fee, and a note: "new birth certificate," "clean passport," "fresh start." Her father didn't sell hardware. He sold people brand-new identities. She flips to the last entry. The date is two weeks before he died, and the name written there is her own.
If her name is in the book, then Mara isn't who she thinks she is. She calls her aunt and asks one question: was she adopted? There's a long silence. "Your father made you safe," her aunt finally says. "Whatever's in that book, burn it. Tonight." Then the line goes dead.
Mara can't burn it. Instead she drives to her aunt's house for answers. The door is unlocked, the lights off. On the kitchen table sits an old photo of Mara as a baby — and a different name written on the back in her father's handwriting. Her aunt is gone. The back door swings open in the wind.