…A sight that would linger in the officer’s mind for years. Instead of a peacefully resting body, the coffin was crammed with dozens of tightly wrapped parcels.

His pulse quickened as recognition set in—these were not harmless packages, but bricks of a substance he had grown all too familiar with over his years on the force: i.l.l.e.g.a.l dr*u*gs.

The driver’s mask of casual charm shattered instantly. He stepped back, the forced grin melting into sheer terror. The officer’s hand went to his radio, his voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline.

— Unit 45, requesting immediate backup. Possible drug trafficking. Hearse is loaded with narcotics. Over. —

Keeping his hand near his holster, the officer held his ground. The driver’s composure crumbled, panic taking over as the reality of his situation sank in. This was no urgent funeral procession—this was a desperate attempt to move contraband undetected.

— Please, officer, — the driver stammered, desperation in his tone. — It’s not what it looks like. I was forced into this. They made me do it. —