Even though I'd spent my life believing my dad's financial difficulties existed because god was testing him, I also believed that eventually, he would be blessed with a well-earned escape from poverty.

My dad had been working on an intriguing invention/development since the early 90s. Eric had interned with him for one summer, and we believed it had promise. In February of 2018, I arranged a business meeting with a potential investor and invited my dad up to Idaho. Dad showed up and walked through my house closing blinds, lifting a blade with one finger to nod at our neighbor's truck.

"That's an agent," he said in a low voice, his lips barely moving. "They followed us up here from Utah."

"Dad," I said gently, tugging him away from the window. "That's Brother Martin. He's a chef at the casino on the reservation. He always gets home at this time."