On the seventh day after my dad's passing, I head over to the funeral home to wrap up the aftermath of the funeral as well as pack up my dad's personal effects.

That's when an employee stops me and demands that I cough up an additional 100 thousand dollars for the storage and preservation of my dad's corpse.

I'm stunned, to say the least.

Dad has already gotten cremated and buried a long time ago. His ashes are already deposited inside the graveyard, as we speak. So, how is his body getting stored and preserved throughout the week?

I use facts and logic to argue with the employee. But he has the gall to threaten me with an impatient scowl on his face.

"Stop yapping already! The system shows that your father's body is still inside the cold storage! It's been seven days, so you must pay 100 thousand dollars, no matter what! If you refuse to settle the payment, you can forget about taking your father's personal effects with you!

"When the time comes, you have to cough up the additional charges as well! If not, I shall see you at court!"

As I stare at the hostile employee, I can feel rage simmering in my blood. Still, I call every family member and relative I have to borrow 100 thousand dollars from them just so I can make the payment.

With the receipt in hand, I walk into the police station right away.

"Officer, my dad was cremated and buried seven days ago. But the funeral home decided to charge me 100 thousand dollars' worth of storage and preservation fees for no reason! I suspect that they didn't send my father off the proper way!"

When the police show up at the funeral home, the same employee who threatened me looks alarmed. He quickly gets his manager, Mr. Lawson, to deal with the situation.

Impatience is etched all over Mr. Lawson's face as he snaps at me, "Your father has already gone through the cremation process seven days ago. The procedure and all the receipts are intact. Don't you dare kick up a fuss irrationally now!"

I let out a cold chuckle in return before showing Mr. Lawson the receipt.

"I'm being irrational, you say? I've just paid for the storage fees of my father's corpse, and here's the receipt to prove the validity of the transaction! You must return my father to me today!"

I thought the funeral home insisted on charging me earlier. Now, they'd better fulfill their side of the bargain by returning my dad's corpse to me without a single hair out of place!

I had just signed the last confirmation form.

I was heading to the personal effects room to collect Dad's belongings when two staff members stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

The one in charge was a heavyset middle-aged man with a thick, mean face. He thrust his hand out impatiently. "Hold it. Who said you could leave? Have you settled your bill yet? You think you can just walk out of here?"

I froze. I'd paid every fee on time for the cremation, the funeral services, and the cemetery placement, and I had the receipts to prove all of it. How could there still be an outstanding balance?

I frowned and tried to explain, asking what charges he was even talking about.

But the man had no interest in listening. He just sneered down at me, already convinced that I was playing dumb.

"Don't act like you don't know. Your father's body sat in our cold storage for a full seven days, and the storage fees and preservation costs haven't been paid.

"You were quick enough to settle the small stuff, but now you want to dodge the big bill? Not a chance. The seven days come to 100,000 dollars, not a penny less. And you have the nerve to think you're walking out of here with his belongings."

I stared at him, completely blindsided. Dad was already buried. How could 100,000 dollars in charges just appear out of nowhere?

I fumbled through my bag in a panic and pulled out the entire stack of receipts stamped with the funeral home's official seal, holding them out to him with shaking hands.

"There has to be a mistake. My father was cremated seven days ago, and when his ashes were interred at the cemetery, your own people came along to verify it in person. His body isn't here, so how can there possibly be cold storage fees?

"Could the system have gotten the records mixed up? Maybe someone else's account got attached to mine by accident."

The man's expression went cold the instant I finished speaking. He snatched the receipts right out of my hand, ripped them apart, and threw the scraps on the floor.

"Don't try to bullshit me with a bunch of paperwork!" He was shouting now.

"I don't give a damn about your cremation receipts. Our system doesn't make mistakes. If the system says your father's body is still here, then it's still here, and you owe the storage fees.

"Quit making excuses. You're just trying to skip out on the bill."

The other staff member sidled up beside him, his voice dripping with mockery. "Exactly. You're here handling funeral arrangements, and you can't even pay what you owe? Drop the innocent act and cough up the 100,000 dollars, and then there's no problem.

"Keep playing dumb, and we hold onto his belongings. On top of that, the fees keep stacking every single day, so you're the one who loses here."

I was shaking with anger, my fists clenched so tight at my sides that my nails bit into my palms.

"This is insane. My father was cremated seven days ago, and his ashes have been in the ground ever since. The cemetery has full documentation on file, along with signatures and security footage.

"The body was cremated. There was nothing left to store and nothing to preserve. 100,000 dollars for seven days of nothing is straight-up extortion!"

The man's expression went cold the moment I said that, and he raised his hand and slapped me across the face.

My head snapped to the side, and my ears rang. All I could hear through the buzzing was him screaming at me.

"Extortion? Watch your goddamn mouth! I already told you the system doesn't make mistakes. This funeral home goes by the system, not by whatever bullshit comes out of your mouth.

"If the system says the body is here, then the body is here. You want to slander this establishment? You're asking for it."

He stepped forward, grabbed me by the collar, and slammed me against the wall.

"I'm going to ask you one last time. 100,000 dollars. Are you paying or not?"

His sidekick came closer too, kicking at the torn scraps of receipts near my feet. "Don't push your luck. We're charging by the book here, so be smart and start scraping the money together. Otherwise, we can't exactly guarantee that your father's belongings will stay in one piece."

I was pinned against the wall, so furious that I could barely breathe.

"I'm not making things up, and I'm not dodging any bill. The body was cremated. You're shaking me down, and you know it."

The man's grip on my collar didn't loosen an inch. If anything, he squeezed harder, completely self-righteous. "Shaking you down? You don't know a damn thing.

"The system log is crystal clear. Your father's remains were held here for seven days, and the storage and preservation fees are owed in full. That's the rule.

"I'm giving you ten more minutes. Either you come up with the money, or you watch me burn everything your father left behind. Your choice."

The sidekick piled on right away. "Don't be stupid about this. The longer you drag your feet, the more you'll owe. On top of losing his belongings, you'll be racking up daily charges for cold storage, space usage, and administrative fees.

"And when all of that piles up, every last dollar gets pinned on you. If you still won't cooperate, we'll take it to court. You'll end up paying even more on top of legal fees, so think about whether that's really the hill you want to die on."

Those words cut right through me.

I looked at the man's face, completely shameless and utterly convinced that he was in the right, and then down at the shredded receipts scattered across the floor. Every ounce of strength drained out of my body.

But the rage inside me only burned hotter.

"Burn them?" My voice came out raw and shaking, and I couldn't hold it steady no matter how hard I tried.

"What gives you the right to burn my father's belongings? They don't belong to you. You have no right to touch them."

The man let out a scornful laugh and shoved me again. The back of my skull cracked against the wall, and my vision went black for a second as a sharp ringing filled my ears.

"What gives us the right? You not paying gives us the right. That's how things work in this funeral home." His tone was pure arrogance, and he was grinning now.

"You said we don't have the authority? Fine. Ten minutes. You've got exactly ten minutes to come up with the money, and if you don't, I'll let you see for yourself just how much authority we have.

"So what do you say? Want to test me?"

The sidekick crowded in beside him. "Yeah, go ahead and test us. You want to play the waiting game? Let's see who can wait longer.

"Either borrow the money and pay up so you can walk out of here with his things, nice and easy, or watch them go up in smoke and walk away with a pile of debt and a lawsuit on your hands. It's up to you."

I braced myself against the wall and slowly straightened up. Pain throbbed through the back of my head in waves. But the fury burning inside me was close to swallowing every last shred of reason I had left.

I looked at the two of them standing there in front of me, completely brazen, extorting me without a flicker of guilt, and then at the torn receipts littering the ground. And suddenly, I laughed.

It was a cold, trembling laugh, the kind that only came from being so angry that there was nowhere left for it to go.

Fine. If they were going to push me this far, hold my father's belongings hostage, and squeeze me for 100,000 dollars under their so-called rules, then I'd give them exactly what they wanted.

I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage and the humiliation, and spoke slowly. "Fine. I'll pay."

But the man didn't back off. If anything, his eyes lit up, greedy and brazen, and his tone turned even more aggressive without a trace of courtesy. "Smart move. But 100,000 dollars isn't going to cut it anymore."

I blinked in surprise, completely thrown. "Why not? You said 100,000 dollars. Why isn't that enough all of a sudden?"

He scoffed, took another step toward me, and stared down at me. Every single word he spoke was with that same self-righteous arrogance. "Why? Think about it.

"I wasted all this time on you, going back and forth, explaining things over and over. Do you have any idea how much of my day you've eaten up?

"And what about all the energy I spent dealing with you, the mental strain, the wasted hours? You don't think you owe me for that?"

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."