My sister called from airport security to tell me my eight-year-old son was leaving the country with my mother-in-law, who had just declared me dead. I was standing on the roof of a thirty-three-story building when she said it. But the most terrifying part wasn’t that someone had forged my death certificate. It was that the document listed the exact time and place where I was supposed to die—less than three hours later.
Chapter 1
“Nolan, listen carefully,” my sister Rebecca whispered. “Are you somewhere safe?”
I looked across the rooftop at my business partner, Kent, who was preparing our equipment for the afternoon.
“I’m at work. What’s going on?”
“Your son is here at Memphis International Airport. Your mother-in-law is trying to take him to Belize.”
My stomach tightened.
“That’s impossible. I dropped Caleb off at school this morning.”
“He’s standing right in front of me. He has his turtle backpack, and he’s asking when you’re meeting him at the beach.”
I gripped the phone.
“Where’s my wife?”
“I don’t know. But Nolan, your mother-in-law says you died in an accident this morning.”
I laughed once, a strange, frightened sound.
“Rebecca, what are you talking about?”
“She brought a certified death certificate. It has your name, your birthday, everything.”
I started walking toward the rooftop exit.
“Keep Caleb there. I’m coming.”
“Wait. There’s something else.”
Her voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“The certificate says you died today at 3:40 p.m. It lists the Riverfront Tower, east side, thirty-third floor. Cause of death: a fall caused by equipment failure.”
I stopped.
It was 12:53 p.m.
My final assignment that afternoon was scheduled for 3:30 on the east side of Riverfront Tower.
Thirty-three floors above the streets of Memphis.
And only two people besides my partner knew that schedule.
One was my wife.
The other was Kent.
I had been a commercial rope-access technician for nineteen years. My company, Mercer and Collins High Access, maintained the glass exteriors of office towers throughout Tennessee.
Kent Collins and I had been friends since our apprentice days. We’d built our business together, shared countless dangerous jobs, and trusted each other with our lives.
He was also my best man when I married Vanessa twelve years earlier.
Vanessa worked in county vital records. She handled official certificates and government paperwork, including the kind Rebecca was describing.
For twelve years, I’d trusted her completely.
We had a beautiful son, Caleb, who loved sea turtles, peanut butter sandwiches, and baseball.
My mother-in-law, Elaine, had always been close to him. She owned a vacation condo in Belize and had promised to take him there someday.
But never without discussing it with me.
And certainly not while telling people I was dead.
“Nolan?”
Kent’s voice startled me.
He stood ten feet away, a coil of rope across his shoulder.
“Everything okay?”
I looked at the equipment beside him.
The new orange rope bag he’d brought that morning.
The schedule he’d unexpectedly rearranged.
And the steel rigging arm where my ropes would be attached for the final descent.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just a family problem.”
Kent smiled.
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Probably something I ate. I’m feeling pretty sick.”
His smile faded slightly.
“You’re not leaving, are you? We’ve got that last drop.”
“I need to get downstairs. Give me a little while.”
He studied me.
Then his smile returned.
“Sure, buddy. I’ll hold everything until you get back.”
I walked toward the elevator without looking over my shoulder.
Only after I reached street level did I call the police.
I explained what my sister had discovered and told them I believed someone might be planning an accident at my workplace.
The dispatcher treated it seriously.
Within an hour, I was sitting in a private office at Memphis International Airport.
Rebecca met me outside the security area.
She’d worked for the Transportation Security Administration for fifteen years and had never looked so frightened.
“Caleb’s all right,” she said immediately. “He’s with Officer Gina. We’ve got him some crackers and juice.”
I pushed past her.
Caleb was sitting in a chair, swinging his feet.
When he saw me, his face lit up.
“Dad! Grandma said you were meeting us in Belize!”
I dropped to my knees and pulled him into my arms.
He laughed.
“You’re squeezing too hard!”
I held him anyway.
Rebecca stood behind us, wiping her eyes.
Then she placed a cream-colored document on the desk.
It carried an official raised seal.
My full name appeared at the top.
Nolan James Mercer.
Age forty-one.
Date of death: that very day.
Time: 3:40 p.m.
Location: Riverfront Tower, Memphis.
Cause: injuries resulting from an equipment-related fall.
I read it three times.
A detective named Helen Carter arrived shortly afterward.
She was a silver-haired woman with a calm voice and the patient expression of someone who had spent decades hearing things other people couldn’t imagine.
She examined the document.
“Mr. Mercer, who knew you were scheduled to work at that location this afternoon?”
“My business partner.”
“Anyone else?”
I hesitated.
“My wife asked me last night when my final descent would be.”
Detective Carter looked up.
“What does your wife do?”
“She’s a deputy registrar.”
The detective’s expression changed.
“At the county records office?”
I nodded.
She carefully placed the certificate inside an evidence sleeve.
Then she asked a question that made the room feel suddenly smaller.
“Mr. Mercer, has your wife ever discussed your life insurance?”
