A father sits in an interrogation room. His hands are cuffed. His face is blank. The detective asks about his son. The father describes a good kid. Helpful. Respectful. No trouble. The detective slides a photograph across the table. The father looks down. His son's face stares back from a security camera. The time stamp matches the time of the murder. The father's face crumbles. He had no idea.

The son had been leading a double life. He was a honor student by day and a drug dealer by night. He killed a rival dealer in a dispute over territory. The father had no idea. He thought his son was at a sleepover. The son had been planning the murder for weeks. He bought a gun from a classmate. He texted his accomplice details of his plan. He deleted the messages, but the cellular provider kept records.

The father testified at trial. He said he still loved his son. He said he would wait for him. The son was convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years to life. The father visits him every week. He still cannot believe what his son did.

Turn down the lights, put on your headphones, and press play because the worst son you will hear about today was once a good kid. And his father still loves him.

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