Funeral Scam: They Never Sent Dad Off

He jabbed his finger at me, his voice getting sharper with every single word, as if I owed him a personal debt.

"That 100,000 dollars was before I factored in all the time and energy I wasted on you. Now that I've been stuck here this long, that sum doesn't cover it anymore.

"Add another 20,000. That's 120,000 dollars total, and I'm not taking a penny less."

His sidekick immediately backed him up, bold only because his boss was backing him up. "That's right! You think we've got nothing better to do than stand around dealing with you all day?

"120,000 is more than fair. Keep dragging this out, and the number will go up again, just so you learn what happens when you waste our time."

A small crowd of other families there for funeral arrangements had already gathered around us.

Someone inhaled sharply and muttered under their breath, "This is insane. It was 100,000 a minute ago, and now it's 120,000."

Someone else sighed with a mixture of pity and frustration. "The kid should've just paid up front instead of fighting it. Now look what happened."

A few people quietly pulled out their phones before shoving them back into their pockets, afraid of getting dragged into the mess.

An older woman couldn't help herself and spoke up softly. "That's enough. Don't you think you're going too far?"

The man whipped around and glared at her so viciously that she flinched. "Mind your own damn business! One more word out of you and I'll make sure you're next."

The crowd went silent instantly. Every head dropped, and no one dared say another word.

He turned back to me, jabbed his finger hard into my forehead, and kept pressing. Every single word out of his mouth was a threat. "Don't even try to negotiate with me. 120,000 dollars, not a cent less.

"Either you come up with the full amount right now and take your father's things, or I treat this as a refusal to pay. I'll burn everything he left behind, make you pay even more on top of it, and make sure you never recover."

The spot where his finger dug into my forehead throbbed with pain, and the humiliation and anger crashed over me like a wave. I was trembling so hard that I could barely stand still.

But I held it in and didn't let myself snap.

I spoke slowly and deliberately. "Fine. 120,000. I'll get the money."

The man's face broke into a smug grin the second the words left my mouth. "See? If you'd just cooperated from the start, we could've saved all this trouble instead of you trying to fight me on it. Now, hurry up and get the money together.

"Don't even think about stalling or trying anything clever, because my patience is running out. If you waste even one more second, the price will go up again."

I didn't say another word. I pulled out my phone, swallowed every last scrap of pride I had, and started calling relatives and friends one by one, begging each of them for money.

The amount was more than a year's salary for an ordinary family, and every single dollar carried an unbearable weight. I abandoned any pretense of dignity and pleaded over and over, reaching out to every person I could possibly ask for help.

I endured the awkward silences on the other end of the line and the stares from the crowd still gathered around me.

When they heard what had happened, my friends and family were equal parts sympathetic and furious, and they all did what they could to scrape money together for me.

After what felt like an eternity of phone calls, I finally managed to piece together the full amount.

Soon after, a payment receipt stamped with the funeral home's financial seal was placed in my hand. The black text on the white document spelled it out plainly: body storage and preservation fees totaling 100,000 dollars.

I looked at the receipt and saw that even though I'd paid 120,000, the invoice only showed 100,000. I didn't make a scene about it. I just kept my voice level and said to the man, "The money's been paid. Give me my father's belongings."

He smirked with a flicker of contempt and waved his hand, sending the sidekick to fetch the items.

A few minutes later, the sidekick came back carrying a sealed box. Inside were the clothes my father had worn in his final days, an old pocket watch, and a few letters he had written but never mailed. They were all I had left of him.

I took the box carefully in both hands, my fingertips brushing across the cold surface of the lid. I blinked hard against the sting in my eyes, didn't spare the man another glance, and walked straight out of the funeral home.

I went directly to the nearest police station.

I stepped into the front lobby and forced down the dull ache in my chest, along with the grief and fury churning beneath it. When I reached the officer on duty, I kept my voice slow and measured.

"Officer, I need to file a report. My father was cremated through proper channels seven days ago. His ashes have already been buried, and all the documentation and records are fully in order.

"But this funeral home charged me 100,000 dollars in body storage and preservation fees for remains that don't exist, and on top of that, the staff extorted an additional 20,000 dollars from me right there in front of everyone.

"I believe they never actually handled my father's remains at all, and there may be cases of body-switching or other illegal operations involved."