Las Vegas, Nevada.

March 5th, 2018.

Sharon Williams is at work when her phone rings.

She’s a nurse at Sunrise Hospital.

She doesn’t recognize the number, almost sends it to voicemail, but something makes her answer.

Hello, Mrs.

Sharon Williams.

A woman’s voice.

Professional.

Careful.

Yes.

Who’s calling? My name is Jennifer Walsh.

I’m an attorney with Bodies Exhibition Incorporated.

I’m calling about a very sensitive matter.

Sharon’s first thought is spam.

Some kind of scam.

I’m not interested in Mrs.

Williams.

Please don’t hang up.

This concerns your son.

Tyler Williams.

Sharon stops walking.

She’s in the hospital hallway.

Nurses rushing past.

Patients being wheeled to rooms, but everything goes quiet.

What about my son? We need you to come to Las Vegas immediately.

We’ve discovered something during a routine inspection of one of our exhibition specimens.

A medical alert bracelet.

It has your son’s name engraved on it.

Sharon’s brain can’t process this.

That’s impossible.

My son died 6 years ago.

He was cremated.

I have his ashes.

I understand this is difficult to hear, but we need you to verify whether this specimen could be your son.

We’ve already contacted law enforcement.

They’re treating this as a potential case of my son was cremated, Sharon repeats.

Her voice is loud now.

Other nurses are looking at her.

I scattered his ashes myself at the beach.

There’s been a mistake.

Mrs.

Williams, I know this sounds impossible, but the bracelet has your name on it as the emergency contact.

It has your phone number.

We need you to come to Las Vegas and help us determine if this is truly your son or if there’s been some terrible mixup.

Sharon’s hands are shaking.

I don’t understand.

How could We’re arranging your travel, first class flight, hotel accommodations, all expenses paid.

We just need you here as soon as possible.

Can you come tomorrow? Sharon wants to say no.

Wants to hang up.

This is insane.

Tyler is dead.

She mourned him.

Moved on.

This is some kind of sick joke.

But what if it’s not? I’ll come.

Sharon hears herself say, “Tomorrow.” She hangs up, stands in the hospital hallway, can’t move, can’t breathe.

A coworker touches her arm.

“Sharon, you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Sharon doesn’t answer because maybe she has.

Before we continue, I just want to say thank you for taking the time to hear this story.

If you’re comfortable, let me know in the comments where you’re watching from and what time it is where you are.

Now, let me tell you what happened to Sharon Williams and her son Tyler.

That night, Sharon can’t sleep.

She lies in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about Tyler.

About the day she got the call that he died, April 3rd, 2012, 6 years ago.

She was at work when the funeral home called a man named Richard Carlson.

His voice was gentle, sympathetic.

Mrs.

Williams, I’m very sorry to inform you that your son Tyler has passed away.

The hospital contacted us.

They said he was brought in this morning but didn’t survive.

Complications from his diabetes.

Sharon remembers the sound that came out of her mouth.

Not quite a scream, not quite a sob.

Something inhuman.

Tyler was 22 years old, had type 1 diabetes since he was 11.

Managed it well.

took his insulin, checked his blood sugar, was careful, but complications happen.

Diabetic ketoacidosis, heart problems.

Tyler had a pacemaker, his health was always fragile.

Carlson was kind, patient, walked Sharon through everything, explained that because of the diabetes, cremation needed to happen quickly.

Health code requirements better for everyone.

Sharon couldn’t afford a traditional funeral.

She was a single mother.

Had been since Tyler’s father left when Tyler was three.

Every dollar went to keeping Tyler healthy.

His insulin, his medical supplies, his doctor visits.

Carlson offered a budget cremation, $1,500.

Sharon scraped together the money, borrowed from her sister, used her credit card.

Carlson said it was better if Sharon didn’t see the body.

The diabetes had caused deterioration.

remember him as he was alive, smiling.

Sharon agreed.

She was too devastated to question anything.

3 days later, Carlson called.

The cremation was complete.

She could pick up the ashes.

Sharon drove to the funeral home.

Carlson handed her a simple wooden urn.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.

Sharon took Tyler to Venice Beach, his favorite place.

She walked to the edge of the water at sunset and opened the ern.

Watch the ashes scatter across the waves.

Watch them disappear into the ocean.

Rest easy, baby, she whispered.

No more pain.

No more struggling.

You’re free now.

She mourned for months.

Couldn’t work.

Couldn’t eat.

Couldn’t function.

Her sister moved in to help.

Forced Sharon to eat.

Forced her to shower.

Forced her to keep living.

Eventually, Sharon went back to work, back to her life.

The grief never went away, but she learned to carry it, to live with it.

And now, six years later, someone is telling her Tyler was never cremated, that he’s been in a museum exhibition on display like an artifact.

Sharon gets out of bed, goes to her closet, pulls down a box from the top shelf.

Tyler’s things, the items she kept, his high school diploma, his pacemaker medical card, photos of him smiling, and the receipt from Eternal Rest funeral services, $1,500.

Cremation services signed by Richard Carlson.

Sharon stares at the receipt.

If Tyler wasn’t cremated, then what did she scatter at the beach? She puts the box away.

Tomorrow she’ll fly to Las Vegas.

Tomorrow she’ll find out if this is real or some terrible mistake.

But deep in her gut, she already knows.

A mother knows.

Tyler is out there somewhere.

And he’s been gone for 6 years.

The next day, Sharon lands in Las Vegas.

A driver meets her at the airport, takes her to a hotel, the Palazzo.

Expensive.

Sharon has never stayed anywhere this nice.

Jennifer Walsh meets her in the lobby.

She’s younger than Sharon expected, maybe 35.

White woman, designer suit, expensive briefcase.

Mrs.

Williams, thank you for coming.

Walsh shakes her hand.

I know this is incredibly difficult.

I want you to know we’re handling this with the utmost sensitivity and care.

Where is he? Sharon asks.

Where’s my son? The exhibition is closed to the public.

We shut it down immediately when we discovered the bracelet.

Detective Michael Santos is waiting for us.

He’s with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.

He’ll be present during your viewing.

They drive to the Georgia World Congress Center.

The building is huge, modern, glass and steel, completely empty.

Inside, the exhibition space is dark.

Police tape across certain areas.

Crime scene markers on the floor.

Detective Santos meets them.

He’s Hispanic, late 40s.

Kind eyes.

Mrs.

Williams.

He extends his hand.

I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.

Before we proceed, I need to prepare you.

What you’re about to see is difficult.

The specimen has been preserved through plastination.

It doesn’t look like a normal body.

The process replaces bodily fluids with plastics.

It can be disturbing.

Sharon nods.

Can’t speak.

They walk through the exhibition, past empty display cases, past anatomical models, past educational placards explaining human biology.

They reach a ropedoff area.

A single specimen under bright lights.

Male, black, tall, posed in a running position.

Right leg forward, left leg back, arms bent at the elbows.

Athletic stance.

The skin is gone.

Muscles exposed.

Red and brown preserved tissue.

Internal organs visible through section torso.

Bones showing through in places.

Face partially plastinated.

Some tissue preserved.

Some skull visible.

Sharon can’t look away.

Can’t look at it.

Both at the same time.

The bracelet is here.

Walsh points to the torso.

A cross-section showing internal anatomy.

And there embedded in the preserved tissue of the chest.

A silver chain.

Medical alert symbol.

Engraved metal tag.

Sharon steps closer.

Her legs feel weak.

Santos steadies her arm.

She reads the engraving.

Tyler Williams, type 1 diabetic.

Emergency contact.

Sharon Williams.

Her phone number from 2012.

Sharon’s vision blurs.

She reaches out like she’s going to touch the glass case.

Pulls her hand back.

I bought him that bracelet.

She whispers.

when he turned 16 made him promise to always wear it in case of emergency, in case his blood sugar dropped and he couldn’t tell anyone.

Her voice breaks.

He wore it everyday, never took it off.

Santos is taking notes.

Mrs.

Williams, I need to ask you some questions.

Can you identify any other features of this specimen that might belong to your son? Sharon forces herself to look.

Really look the chest.

There’s a scar.

diagonal line across the left pectoral 4 in long, thin, surgical.

Tyler had a pacemaker, Sharon says.

Her voice sounds distant, not her own.

Implanted when he was 22, 6 months before he died.

Diabetic cardiomyopathy.

His heart was failing.

The scar is right there, she points.

Her hand shakes.

What else? Santos asks gently.

Sharon looks at the hands.

The specimen’s left hand is positioned near its face.

She sees the fingers, the ring finger.

The tip is missing.

Cut off at the first knuckle.

Sharon makes a sound.

Something between a sob and a gasp.

Tyler lost that finger in high school.

Wood shop class.

Table saw accident.

He was 16.

I was there when it happened.

Rushed him to the emergency room.

They couldn’t reattach it.

He joked about it afterward.

said it made him unique.

Santos writes everything down.

Mrs.

Williams, based on these identifying features, do you believe this specimen is your son, Tyler Williams? Sharon looks at the specimen.

The bracelet, the scar, the missing fingertip.

Yes, she whispers.

That’s my son.

Her legs give out.

Santos catches her, helps her to a chair someone brings over.

Sharon sits, stares at the floor.

Can’t look at Tyler anymore.

can’t process what she’s seeing.

I don’t understand, she says.

I had him cremated.

I was at the funeral home.

I got his ashes.

I scattered them.

How is he here? That’s what we’re going to find out.

Santos says.

Mrs.

Williams, I need you to provide a DNA sample.

We need to confirm scientifically that this is Tyler.

Can you do that? Sharon nods.

Whatever you need.

A technician comes over, swabs the inside of Sharon’s cheek, seals the sample in a container, labels it.

We’ll rush the analysis, Santos says.

Should have results within a week.

In the meantime, I need you to tell me everything about Tyler’s funeral arrangements.

who you worked with, what you were told, every detail you can remember.

Sharon tells him, about the phone call from Carlson, about Eternal Rest funeral services in Los Angeles, about the cremation that supposedly happened, about the ashes she scattered.

Santos takes notes on everything.

Did you ever see Tyler’s body? No.

Carlson said it wasn’t recommended.

Said the diabetes caused deterioration.

that I should remember him alive.

Did you get a death certificate? Sharon thinks.

Yes.

Carlson mailed it to me.

I needed it for life insurance.

Tyler had a small policy through his work.

Do you still have it at home in Los Angeles? I need you to send me a copy.

As soon as possible.

Okay.

Santos stands.

Mrs.

Williams, I know this is overwhelming, but I need you to understand something.

If this specimen is Tyler, then someone lied to you about his cremation.

Someone took your money and never cremated him.

Someone sold his body.

This is a criminal investigation now.

Sharon looks up at him.

Who would do that? That’s what I’m going to find out.

Sharon flies home the next day.

Can’t stay in Las Vegas.

Can’t be that close to Tyler while he’s still in that case.

still on display.

Walsh assures her the specimen will be moved to a secure facility, protected, no longer exhibited, treated with dignity while they wait for DNA results.

Sharon goes back to work, tries to function, can’t tell anyone what’s happening, can’t explain, can barely process it herself.

A week later, Santos calls.

Sharon is in her car.

Just got off shift.

She pulls over to answer.

Mrs.

Williams.

We got the DNA results.

Sharon holds her breath.

It’s a match.

99.98% certainty.

The specimen is Tyler Williams.

Sharon knew.

She’s known since she saw the bracelet.

But hearing it confirmed makes it real.

What happens now? She asks.

Now we investigate.

I’m working with LAPD to look into Eternal Rest Funeral Services.

We’ve already executed a search warrant, seized their records.

This is going to take time, but I promise you, we will find out what happened to your son.

Sharon hangs up, sits in her car in the hospital parking lot.

Car is coming and going.

People starting their shifts, ending their shifts.

Normal life continuing around her.

But Sharon’s life isn’t normal anymore.

Her son wasn’t cremated.

He was sold, displayed, treated like property, and somewhere out there is the person who did this to him.

Sharon drives home, opens the box in her closet, looks at Tyler’s photos, his smiling face, his whole life ahead of him.

I’m going to find out what happened.

She tells his picture.

I promise you, baby.

I’m going to find out who did this.

Two weeks later, Detective Santos calls again.

Mrs.

Williams, we found something.

Can you come to Los Angeles? I need to talk to you in person.

Sharon takes emergency leave from work.

Drives to LAPD headquarters.

Santos is waiting with two other detectives.

They sit in a conference room.

Santos spreads documents across the table.

We searched Eternal Rest Funeral Services, Richard Carlson’s business.

What we found is extensive fraud.

Over 6 years, Carlson claimed to cremate 38 bodies, but we can’t find evidence that any of them were actually cremated.

Sharon stares at him.

38? Yes.

Including your son? Carlson documented cremations at a facility called Pacific Crematory Services.

But that facility doesn’t exist.

The address in his records is a vacant lot.

It’s never been a crematory.

Then where are the bodies? That’s what we’re trying to determine.

But we know where at least one went.

Your son.

We trace Tyler’s body through a chain of custody.

Santos slides documents toward Sharon.

Bills of sale.

Transfer records.

Corporate paperwork.

Eternal Rest sold Tyler’s body to a company called Desert Anatomical Supply.

It’s run by a man named Marcus Webb.

He’s a body broker.

It’s a legal business.

He buys bodies from funeral homes, medical schools, morgs.

then sells them to research facilities, medical schools, and exhibitions like bodies.

That’s legal.

Sharon’s voice rises.

In most states, yes, as long as proper consent is obtained, but that’s where this gets criminal.

Web purchased Tyler with what he believed was proper documentation.

Consent form signed by you authorizing body donation for medical research.

Santos slides another document over.

Sharon’s signature at the bottom authorizing Tyler’s body to be donated to science.

Sharon stares at it.

I never signed this.

We know it’s forged.

We had a handwriting expert compare it to your actual signature on the cremation contract.

It’s not even close.

Carlson created fake consent paperwork to make the sale look legitimate.

So, this web person didn’t know that’s what he claims and we believe him.

He’s cooperating fully.

provided all his records, showed us the documentation Carlson gave him.

Webb thought he was buying a legitimately donated body.

Where did Webb sell Tyler? To Life Techch Plastination Laboratory here in Las Vegas.

There, the facility that preserves bodies for bodies exhibition.

They purchased Tyler in May 2012.

One month after you thought he was cremated, they plastinated him.

Took about 6 months.

Then he went into the exhibition rotation.

He’s been on display for nearly 6 years.

Sharon can’t speak, can’t process.

Tyler has been touring the country in a museum exhibition while she mourned while she moved on with her life.

There’s something else, Santos says.

His voice is different now.

Careful.

When we examined Tyler’s preserved remains, our medical examiner found something.

Evidence of trauma.

Old injury.

Healed but visible.

What kind of trauma? Blunt force trauma to the back of the skull.

Significant impact.

The kind of injury that would be fatal.

Sharon’s blood goes cold.

What are you saying, Mrs.

Williams? Tyler didn’t die of diabetic complications.

He was killed.

Someone hit him hard enough to fracture his skull.

And then someone made it look like he died naturally.

The room spins.

Sharon grabs the edge of the table.

Who? She asks.

Who killed him? We’re investigating, but Mrs.

Williams, I need to ask you some questions about Tyler’s life in Los Angeles.

His roommate, his friends, anyone he had conflicts with.

Sharon tells him everything she knows.

Tyler lived with a roommate, Derek Martinez.

They met at community college, became friends, shared an apartment in North Hollywood.

Tyler worked as a graphic designer, freelance, paid his bills, managed his diabetes, called Sharon every Sunday until he didn’t until April 3rd, 2012.

When Carlson called to say Tyler was dead, tell me about Derek Martinez, Santos says.

I only met him a few times.

He seemed nice, quiet.

Tyler said they got along well.

Did Tyler ever mention money issues with Derek? Sharon thinks.

Yes.

Actually, Tyler loaned Derek money for tuition.

Derek was trying to finish his degree.

Tyler had some savings.

He was generous.

Too generous sometimes.

How much did he loan him? $15,000.

I remember because I told Tyler that was too much, that he should keep that money for emergencies, for his medical expenses.

But Tyler said Dererick was good for it.

That Derek would pay him back.

Santos and the other detectives exchange looks.

What? Sharon asks, “What does that mean?” “It means we need to talk to Derek Martinez.” Santos locates Derek.

He still lives in Los Angeles, married now, two kids, works in digital marketing.

Detectives show up at his office, ask him to come to the station for questioning.

Derek agrees.

doesn’t ask for a lawyer.

Seems cooperative.

Santos interviews him.

Chiron watches through a one-way mirror.

She insisted on being there.

Dererick is 30 years old now.

Clean-cut, professional.

Looks nervous, but not guilty.

Derek, we’re investigating the death of Tyler Williams.

You were his roommate in 2012.

Yeah, that was awful.

Tyler just disappeared.

I filed a missing person’s report.

Police looked for him.

Never found anything.

Tell me about the last time you saw Tyler.

April 3rd, 2012.

He left the apartment around 8:00 p.m.

Said he was meeting someone.

Didn’t say who.

I never saw him again.

Did you report him missing right away? No.

I waited 3 days.

Thought maybe he went out of town, but when he didn’t come back and didn’t answer his phone, I got worried.

Called the police.

You and Tyler had financial issues.

Derek’s expression shifts.

Defensive.

We worked that out.

Tyler loaned you $15,000 for tuition.

Yes.

And I was paying him back.

I gave him $3,000 before he disappeared.

I was going to pay the rest in installments.

Tyler never told his mother he got any money back.

I don’t know what he told his mother, but I paid him.

I can show you bank records.

Santos makes a note.

Where were you the night of April 3rd after Tyler left? At my girlfriend’s place.

Jessica.

We were together from 7:00 p.m.

until the next morning.

We’ll need to verify that.

Fine.

Talk to her.

She’ll tell you.

Santos interviews Jessica.

She’s Dererick’s wife now.

She confirms his alibi.

Dererick was with her that entire night.

Didn’t leave until morning.

Santos goes back to Sharon.

His alibi checks out.

He was with Jessica.

Multiple witnesses saw them at her apartment.

There’s no way Dererick physically killed Tyler.

Then who did? I don’t know yet.

But there’s something else.

Derek has an uncle.

Richard Carlson.

Sharon’s breath catches.

The funeral director.

Yes.

Dererick’s mother is Carlson’s sister.

Derek and Carlson are family.

Everything clicks into place.

Derek called Carlson.

after Tyler died.

They covered it up together.

That’s what I think, too.

But proving it is harder.

Santos pulls phone records from April 2012.

Derek’s cell phone.

Three calls to Carlson on the evening of April 3rd.

8:15 p.m.

8:43 p.m.

9:21 p.m.

Three calls.

Right after Tyler supposedly left the apartment, Santos brings Derek back in.

this time with the phone records.

“You called your uncle three times the night Tyler disappeared.” Derek’s lawyer finally speaks up.

“My client doesn’t have to answer.” “Tyler Williams was murdered,” Santos interrupts.

Blunt force trauma to the head and his body ended up at your uncle’s funeral home.

“That’s not a coincidence.” Derek’s face drains of color.

His hands start shaking.

“I want to tell you something,” Santos continues.

“Your uncle is going down for this.

We have evidence of fraud, evidence of body trafficking.

He’s going to prison.

The only question is whether you go with him or whether you help us understand what really happened.

Derek is breathing hard, sweating.

His lawyer is telling him not to say anything, but Dererick isn’t listening anymore.

It was an accident, Derek says.

His voice cracks.

I swear to God, it was an accident.

His lawyer grabs his arm.

Derek, stop talking right now.

I can’t.

Derek is crying now.

I can’t keep doing this.

I can’t keep lying.

Santos leans forward.

Tell me what happened.

Tyler came home that night around 8.

We got into an argument about the money.

He said he needed it back.

All of it right away.

Said he had an emergency.

His medical expenses were piling up.

He needed the full 15,000.

Dererick wipes his eyes.

I didn’t have it.

I’d only paid back 3,000.

The rest was gone.

I spent it on other things.

Rent, car payments.

I thought I had time to pay him back slowly.

What happened? Tyler got angry.

Said I promised.

Said he needed that money.

We started yelling.

It got physical.

He pushed me.

I pushed back.

He lost his balance.

Hit his head on the corner of the kitchen counter.

Derek sobs.

He just dropped.

just fell.

There was blood.

So much blood.

I tried to wake him up, tried to help him, but he wouldn’t move, wouldn’t breathe.

I checked his pulse.

Nothing.

So, you called your uncle.

I panicked.

I didn’t know what to do.

I called Richard.

He came over, saw Tyler, checked for a pulse, said Tyler was dead.

Said if I called the police, I’d go to prison for murder.

said we needed to make this go away.

How did he make it go away? We moved Tyler’s body to Richard’s van.

Late at night, no one saw us.

Richard took him to the funeral home, said he’d handle everything.

A few days later, Richard called Tyler’s mother, told her Tyler died at the hospital.

Made it sound official, professional.

Sharon believed him.

Why wouldn’t she? Funeral directors don’t lie about death.

Dererick is shaking now.

Richard said he’d cremate Tyler.

Make it look legitimate.

But he didn’t.

He sold Tyler’s body.

Gave me half the money.

$7,500.

Said it was payment for keeping quiet, for going along with it.

Santos leans back.

So, you took money for your friend’s body.

I didn’t want to.

I felt sick about it.

But Richard said the money was already made.

said, “I might as well take it since Tyler was already dead.

I used it to finish school, graduated, got married, tried to forget.” Did you know Tyler’s body was in an exhibition? No.

I swear Richard never told me what he did with the bodies he sold.

I assume they went to medical schools for education.

I didn’t know Tyler was on display.

Santos ends the interview.

Derek is arrested, charged with seconddegree murder and conspiracy to commit fraud.

Sharon watches him get led away in handcuffs.

She feels nothing.

No satisfaction, no relief, just emptiness.

Her son was killed by his friend over $15,000 and then sold like property.

And she mourned over fake ashes for 6 years.

But now comes the part Sharon didn’t expect.

The fight that nearly breaks her.

3 days after Dererick’s arrest, Jennifer Walsh calls Sharon.

Her voice is different, guarded.

Mrs.

Williams, we need to talk.

Can you come to our Las Vegas office? Sharon flies back to Vegas.

Meets Walsh in a conference room.

There are three other attorneys present.

All men, all in expensive suits.

Walsh looks uncomfortable.

Mrs.

Williams, our company has been served with a motion.

Richard Carlson’s defense attorneys are arguing that Tyler’s remains are evidence in a criminal case and cannot be released to you until all legal proceedings are complete.

Sharon stares at her.

What does that mean? One of the male attorneys speaks up.

His name is Robert Chen.

Cold eyes, corporate voice.

It means the body stays in our custody.

We can’t release it to you.

Not yet.

For how long? Could be months.

Could be years.

depends on how long the criminal trials last and there will be appeals, multiple appeals.

Sharon’s voice rises.

You’re keeping my son after everything that happened.

We’re not keeping him, Chen says.

We’re required to maintain custody of evidence.

It’s not our choice.

It’s a court order.

He’s not evidence.

He’s my son.

He’s been on display for 6 years.

You owe me Mrs.

Williams.

Chen interrupts.

His voice is sharp.

Our company purchased that specimen in good faith.

We had no knowledge of any wrongdoing.

We’re victims here, too.

We’ve lost millions in revenue because of this scandal.

Our reputation is destroyed.

We’re trying to cooperate, but we also have legal obligations.

Sharon stands up.

Legal obligations.

You displayed my son like he was an object.

You charged people $20 to look at him, and now you’re telling me I can’t bury him.

That’s exactly what I’m telling you.

Until the court says otherwise, the body stays in our custody.

Sharon feels ragebuilding, white hot, blinding.

Get me my son back.

We can’t.

Then I’ll sue you.

I’ll sue this entire company.

I’ll take everything you have.

Chen’s expression doesn’t change.

You’re welcome to try, but you should know we have an entire legal department.

Unlimited resources, and we’re protected by Nevada state law regarding evidence and criminal proceedings.

You’ll lose, and it will cost you everything you have.

Sharon leaves the meeting, gets in her rental car, screams, pounds the steering wheel, cries until she can’t breathe.

Tyler is dead, and they still won’t let him go.

She calls Detective Santos.

They won’t release Tyler.

They’re saying he’s evidence.

I know.

I’m sorry.

Carlson’s attorneys are fighting this.

They’re claiming Tyler’s body is essential evidence for his defense.

That he needs access to it for independent examination.

That’s insane.

Derek confessed.

There’s DNA evidence.

They don’t need Tyler’s body.

I agree.

But Carlson has rights.

His attorneys are exploiting every loophole.

They’re trying to delay the trial, trying to make this so expensive and complicated that you give up.

I’m not giving up.

I know, but Sharon, you need to prepare yourself.

This could take a very long time.

Sharon hangs up, sits in the parking lot, stares at the body’s exhibition building across the street.

She makes a decision.

The next morning, Sharon goes to the exhibition building.

It’s still closed.

Signs on the doors temporarily closed for investigation.

She walks up to the main entrance.

Security guard stops her.

Ma’am, the building is closed.

I know.

I need to see Jennifer Walsh.

Tell her Sharon Williams is here.

The guard makes a call.

5 minutes later, Walsh comes out.

Sharon, you can’t be here.

I want to see my son.

That’s not possible.

He’s been moved to a secure facility.

Where? I can’t tell you that.

Why not? He’s my son.

I have a right.

You don’t have any rights right now.

The court order is very clear.

No one has access to the remains except authorized personnel.

That doesn’t include you.

Sharon’s voice breaks.

He’s been gone for 6 years.

I just want to see him.

I just want to be with him.

Walsh’s expression softens slightly.

I understand, but my hands are tied.

If you violate the court order, you could be held in contempt.

You could be arrested.

I don’t care.

You should care because if you’re in jail, you can’t fight for Tyler.

You can’t advocate for him.

You can’t help the investigation.

Think about what Tyler needs right now.

He needs you free.

Not in a jail cell.

Sharon knows Walsh is right.

But it doesn’t make it easier.

She leaves, drives back to her hotel, lies on the bed, and stares at the ceiling.

6 years.

Tyler has been dead for 6 years, and she still can’t bury him.

That night, the story leaks.

Someone tips off the media.

Local news picks it up first, then national news.

Mother discovers son in museum exhibition.

Company refuses to release body.

The story goes viral.

Social media explodes.

People are outraged.

How can they keep her son’s body? That’s inhumane.

She has a right to bury him.

This is disgusting.

Bod’s exhibition is evil.

Boycott them.

But there’s another side.

Comments.

Sharon doesn’t expect.

She’s just trying to get money from them.

Obvious lawsuit setup.

How does she know it’s really her son? She never even saw the body when he supposedly died.

This is fake.

No way a body stays preserved that long with a bracelet visible.

She’s looking for a payout.

This whole thing is a scam.

The comments multiply.

Thousands of people calling Sharon a liar, a fraud, a gold digger.

Sharon reads them all.

Can’t stop herself.

Each comment is a knife.

Her sister calls Sharon.

Stop reading that garbage.

Those people don’t know you.

They don’t know what you’re going through.

They think I’m lying.

They think I’m making this up for money.

Who cares what they think? You know the truth.

The police know the truth.

That’s all that matters.

But it does matter because the public opinion is shifting.

More people doubt her story.

More people think she’s running a scam.

Body’s exhibition’s legal team releases a statement.

Carefully worded strategic.

While we sympathize with Mrs.

Williams’s loss, we must follow legal procedures.

The specimen in question is evidence in an ongoing criminal investigation.

We cannot release it without proper court authorization.

We are cooperating fully with law enforcement and will continue to do so.

The statement makes Sharon look unreasonable, like she’s demanding special treatment, ignoring the law.

The media narrative shifts.

Grieving mother demands special access to evidence.

Sharon watches her reputation get destroyed.

Watches people call her names.

Call her crazy.

Call her a liar.

She stops going to work.

Can’t face her co-workers.

Can’t face anyone.

Her sister moves in again.

Just like after Tyler died, making sure Sharon eats.

Making sure she showers.

Making sure she survives.

You need to fight back.

Her sister says, “Get a lawyer.

Sue them.

Make them release Tyler.

I can’t afford a lawyer.

Not one who can fight a corporation with unlimited money.

Then find one who will work pro bono.

There has to be someone.

Sharon starts calling attorneys.

Most won’t touch the case.

Too complicated, too expensive, too much risk.

One attorney laughs when she explains the situation.

You want to sue Bod’s exhibition and fight a court order with no money? Lady, that’s impossible.

You’ll lose everything.

Sharon hangs up, stares at Tyler’s photo on her phone, his smiling face.

I’m trying, baby.

She whispers.

I’m trying so hard, but I don’t know if I can do this.

For the first time since Tyler died, Sharon thinks about giving up, about walking away, about letting the courts and the corporations and the lawyers handle everything while she goes home and tries to forget.

But she can’t because Tyler deserves better.

deserves someone who won’t quit.

She keeps calling lawyers.

On the 15th call, someone answers differently.

This is Angela Brooks, civil rights attorney.

You’re calling about Bod’s exhibition? Yes, but I should tell you upfront.

I don’t have money, too.

Tell me your story first, then we’ll talk about money.

Sharon tells her everything.

the phone call, the discovery, the DNA test, Dererick’s confession, the court order keeping Tyler’s body locked away.

Angela listens, really listens, takes notes, asks questions.

When Sharon finishes, Angela is quiet for a moment.

Then, this isn’t just about your son.

This is about an entire industry that treats human bodies as property, as commodities to be bought and sold.

I want to take your case.

I told you I can’t pay.

I’ll do it pro bono.

This case is too important.

Someone needs to hold these companies accountable.

Let me be that someone.

Sharon starts crying.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Don’t thank me yet.

This is going to be brutal.

They’re going to fight us with everything they have.

They’re going to try to destroy your credibility.

They’re going to make your life hell.

Are you ready for that? Sharon looks at Tyler’s photo.

Yes, I’m ready.

Angela files an emergency motion demanding immediate release of Tyler’s remains, arguing the court order is unconstitutional, that Sharon has fundamental rights as next of kin.

Bod’s exhibition’s attorneys respond within hours, opposing the motion, arguing Sharon has no standing, that the criminal case takes precedence.

The hearing is scheduled for 2 weeks later.

Sharon and Angela prepare, review documents, practice testimony, build their case.

The day of the hearing arrives.

Clark County District Court.

Judge Patricia Morrison presiding.

Sharon sits next to Angela.

Across the aisle, five attorneys representing Bod’s exhibition.

Another three representing the district attorney’s office.

Judge Morrison reviews the motion.

Miss Brooks, you’re asking this court to override a standing order preserving evidence in a criminal case.

That’s a significant request.

Yes, your honor.

We’re arguing that order violates my client’s constitutional rights.

Tyler Williams is not property.

He’s not evidence.

He’s a human being whose mother has the right to bury him with dignity.

Bod’s exhibition’s lead attorney stands.

His name is Marcus Reynolds.

Silver hair, expensive suit, voice like ice.

Your honor, this is a criminal case involving murder, fraud, and body trafficking.

The defendant has a right to examine evidence.

The prosecution needs access to the remains for their case.

Mrs.

Williams’s desire to bury her son, while understandable, does not override these legal requirements.

My client has waited 6 years, Angela argues.

Her son has been displayed in museums, treated like an object, denied dignity and death.

How much longer must she wait? The defendants have had months to examine the remains.

The prosecution has completed its examination.

There is no legitimate reason to continue holding Tyler’s body.

Reynolds stands again.

Your honor, there are appeals pending.

The defense needs ongoing access in case new evidence emerges.

We cannot release the body and then try to recover it later if needed.

Judge Morrison looks at Sharon.

Mrs.

Williams, I understand your pain.

I cannot imagine what you’ve been through, but I have to balance your rights against the rights of the defendants and the needs of the criminal justice system.

Sharon stands.

Angela tries to stop her, but Sharon speaks anyway.

Your honor, with all respect, my son is not a thing.

He’s not evidence.

He’s not property.

He’s my baby.

I carried him for 9 months.

I raised him for 22 years.

I mourned him for 6 years.

And now you’re telling me I still can’t bury him because some lawyers need to keep fighting.

Her voice breaks.

How is that justice? How is that fair? Tyler was killed.

His body was stolen.

He was displayed like an artifact.

And even now, even after we know the truth, you’re keeping him locked away.

When does it end? When does my son finally get to rest? The courtroom is silent.

Judge Morrison’s expression is unreadable.

I’m denying the motion, she says finally.

Mrs.

Williams, I sympathize with your position, but the criminal case must take precedence.

Once all proceedings are complete, you’ll have access to your son’s remains.

But not before the gavl falls.

Sharon can’t breathe.

Angela is gathering papers, saying something about appeals, but Sharon doesn’t hear her.

She walks out of the courtroom.

Reporters are waiting.

Cameras, microphones, questions shouted from every direction.

Mrs.

Williams, how do you feel about the ruling? Are you planning to appeal? Do you blame Bod’s exhibition? Sharon keeps walking, gets to the parking garage, sits in her car, screams, pounds the steering wheel until her hands hurt.

She lost.

Tyler is still locked away and she doesn’t know if she has the strength to keep fighting.

Her phone rings.

It’s her sister.

Sharon, I saw the news.

I’m so sorry.

Come home.

Please, just come home.

I can’t.

Not without Tyler.

You’re killing yourself over this.

Please.

Take a break.

Rest.

Then we’ll figure out the next step.

Sharon hangs up, sits in the car, stares at nothing.

She thinks about giving up, about walking away, about letting Tyler stay in that facility forever while she goes home and tries to forget.

But then she thinks about Tyler’s face, his smile.

The way he used to call her every Sunday.

The way he always said, “I love you, Mom.” before hanging up.

She can’t give up.

Not on him.

Never on him.

Sharon wipes her eyes, starts the car, drives to Angela’s office.

We appeal, Sharon says.

We fight.

We do whatever it takes.

Angela looks at her, sees the determination, nods.

Okay, we fight.

3 weeks later, something changes.

Something Sharon didn’t expect.

Derek’s trial date is set.

Prosecution offers him a plea deal.

Seconddegree murder, 15 years to life.

Derek accepts.

At sentencing, Derek speaks, his voice shaking.

I want to say something to Mrs.

Williams, to Tyler’s mother.

I know nothing I say can undo what I did.

I killed your son, my friend, over money, and then I helped my uncle sell his body.

I took money from that sale.

I used Tyler’s death to finish my education, to build my life.

He’s crying now.

I think about Tyler every day, about what I took from him, from you, from everyone who loved him.

I don’t deserve forgiveness.

I know that.

But I want you to know that I’m sorry.

Truly sorry.

And I hope that one day when I’m in prison, you’ll find peace.

Derek is sentenced.

15 years to life, led away in handcuffs.

Sharon watches, still feels nothing.

His apology is meaningless.

Tyler is still dead, still locked away.

But then something unexpected happens.

Dererick’s attorney approaches Angela.

My client wants to help.

He’s willing to testify against Richard Carlson, provide details about the cover up, about how many other bodies Carlson sold.

Derek wants to cooperate fully.

In exchange, he’s asking for nothing.

He just wants to do the right thing.

Angela looks at Sharon.

This could help Carlson’s trial.

Make the case stronger.

Force Carlson to plead guilty instead of dragging this out for years.

And then they’d release Tyler.

Yes.

If Carlson pleads guilty, the evidence requirement ends.

They’d have to release Tyler’s remains.

Sharon nods.

Tell Derek we accept his help.

Derek testifies against Carlson, provides detailed information, phone calls, meetings, payments.

Everybody Carlson sold over 6 years.

With Derek’s testimony, Carlson’s defense crumbles.

His attorneys know they’ll lose at trial.

They negotiate a plea deal.

20 years in prison, no parole, restitution to all families.

February 12th, 2019.

Carlson pleads guilty to 38 counts of fraud and one count of accessory after the fact to murder.

The judge accepts the plea, sentences him to 20 years, and finally the court order is lifted.

Tyler’s remains can be released.

Sharon gets the call from Angela.

It’s over.

You can bring Tyler home.

Sharon breaks down, sobs into the phone.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

She flies to Las Vegas one more time.

Bod’s exhibition releases Tyler’s remains.

No ceremony, no apology, just a transfer of custody.

Sharon arranges transportation.

A funeral home in Los Angeles will receive Tyler, prepare him for burial.

Sharon flies home with the paperwork, the death certificate, the release forms, everything documenting that Tyler is finally hers again.

April 19th, 2019, 7 years after Tyler died, Sharon holds a proper funeral.

Greater Faith Baptist Church in Los Angeles.

The same church where Sharon has attended for 30 years.

The same church where Tyler grew up, where he was baptized at 12, where he sang in the youth choir.

The service is packed.

Tyler’s friends from high school, people he worked with, church members who prayed for Sharon through her grief, Detective Santos and his team from LAPD, Jennifer Walsh from Bod’s Exhibition, Angela Brooks, other families from the support group Sharon didn’t know she’d be starting.

Pastor James delivers the eulogy.

He’s known Sharon for 25 years.

Watched Tyler grow up.

Tyler Williams was taken from us twice.

Pastor James says his voice fills the church.

Once when he was killed and again when his body was stolen and sold for 7 years, Sharon searched for her son, not knowing where he was, not knowing what happened.

And when she finally found him, they tried to keep her from bringing him home.

He looks at Sharon, but Sharon didn’t give up.

She fought.

She endured ridicule.

Endured people calling her a liar.

Endured a legal system that seemed designed to break her.

And she won.

Not because she had money.

Not because she had power, but because she loved her son.

And that love was stronger than everything they threw at her.

Pastor James gestures to the casket.

Tyler is home now.

After 7 years of waiting.

After being displayed and examined and fought over, he’s finally at peace.

And that’s because of his mother.

Because she never stopped fighting, never stopped loving him, never gave up.

Sharon stands, walks to the pulpit.

She prepared remarks, wrote them down, practiced them.

But when she opens her mouth, different words come out.

7 years ago, I buried my son.

Or I thought I did.

I stood at the beach and scattered ashes and said goodbye.

I mourned.

I cried.

I tried to move on.

And then someone called me and said Tyler was never cremated.

That he’d been in a museum.

That thousands of people had looked at him without knowing who he was, without knowing his story.

Sharon’s voice shakes.

I was angry.

So angry at Derek for killing him.

At Richard Carlson for selling him.

at Bod’s exhibition for displaying him at the legal system that tried to keep us apart.

I wanted revenge.

I wanted everyone who hurt Tyler to suffer.

She wipes her eyes.

But revenge didn’t bring Tyler home.

Fighting did.

Loving him did.

Refusing to let them forget he was a person, a son, someone who mattered.

Sharon looks at the casket.

Tyler is inside.

Finally at rest, finally treated with dignity.

I’m sorry, baby.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you when you were alive.

I’m sorry it took me seven years to bring you home, but you’re here now.

And I promise you, I won’t stop fighting because there are other families like ours.

Other people whose loved ones were stolen, and they deserve answers, too.

They deserve justice, too.

Sharon sits down.

Pastor James leads the congregation in prayer.

Then, it’s time for burial.

They drive to Forest Lawn Memorial Park.

The cemetery is beautiful.

Rolling hills, green grass, trees providing shade.

Tyler’s plot is next to a large oak tree.

Sharon picked it herself.

Wanted somewhere peaceful, somewhere she could visit and feel close to him.

The gravestone is simple.

Black granite, gold lettering.

Sharon designed it herself.

Tyler Marcus Williams, June 12, 1990.

April 3rd, 2012.

Beloved son, lost to violence, stolen by greed, found by truth, returned by love.

Rest now, baby.

You’re home.

They lower the casket into the ground.

Sharon watches.

This time it’s real.

This time, Tyler is actually there.

Actually being laid to rest.

She throws a handful of dirt onto the casket.

Rest easy, baby.

No more pain.

No more being moved around.

No more being looked at.

You’re home now forever.

After the burial, people approach Sharon, offer condolences, share memories of Tyler.

But one woman catches Sharon’s attention.

She’s about 50.

Black woman looks exhausted.

Looks like she’s been through hell.

Mrs.

Williams.

My name is Patricia Anderson.

My daughter was one of the bodies Carlson sold.

She was supposed to be cremated in 2014.

We just found out she wasn’t.

She’s been in a medical school in Arizona.

They’re releasing her next month.

Sharon takes Patricia’s hands.

I’m so sorry.

I saw your story on the news about how you fought to get Tyler back, and I thought, if you can do it, maybe I can, too.

Maybe I can bring my daughter home.

Sharon realizes something in that moment.

Tyler’s story isn’t just about Tyler.

It’s about everyone who’s been stolen, everyone who’s been lied to, everyone who deserves answers.

Come to my house tomorrow, Sharon says.

Bring any documents you have.

We’ll figure this out together.

Patricia starts crying.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Over the next weeks, more families reach out.

People who saw Sharon’s story.

People who suspect their loved ones weren’t actually cremated.

People who need help.

Sharon helps every single one, connects them with Detective Santos, with Angela Brooks, with other attorneys willing to take these cases.

She starts a support group.

Families of Carlson’s victims.

They meet monthly at Greater Faith Baptist Church, share stories, cry together, support each other.

The group grows to 20 families, then 30, then 50.

Sharon realizes this is bigger than Carlson, bigger than Bod’s exhibition.

This is systemic.

An entire industry built on exploiting families in their most vulnerable moments.

6 months after Tyler’s burial, Sharon makes a decision.

She’s going to start a foundation.

Tyler’s Truth Foundation mission.

Reform the funeral and body donation industries.

Push for regulation.

Protect families.

She uses the small life insurance payout Tyler had $10,000 uses it to incorporate the nonprofit create a website print materials.

The foundation grows.

Angela joins the board.

Detective Santos becomes an adviser.

Families volunteer.

Activists join.

They start investigating.

How many funeral directors are doing what Carlson did? How many bodies are being sold without consent? The answer is terrifying.

dozens, maybe hundreds across the country.

An entire underground network of corrupt funeral directors and body brokers.

Tyler’s Truth Foundation exposes 15 more funeral directors over 2 years in eight different states.

Dozens more families get answers, get their loved ones back.

Sharon testifies before state legislatures, before Congress, becomes a national advocate for funeral industry reform.

Right now, there’s almost no accountability, she tells lawmakers.

Funeral directors can tell you they cremated someone and you have no way to verify it.

No tracking, no oversight, no protection for families.

We need mandatory cremation verification.

We need regulations requiring funeral homes to prove they actually performed the services they charged for.

Some states listen.

California implements mandatory tracking of all human remains.

Requires funeral homes to document every step of cremation.

Allows families to witness cremations if they choose.

Colorado passes similar legislation.

Then Oregon, then Washington, then Illinois.

Body’s exhibition conducts a full audit of all specimens, tests them for identifying features, medical devices, surgical implants, anything that could identify who they were.

They find 12 bodies with identifiable features.

12 families who thought their loved ones were cremated or properly donated.

12 more families get the phone call Sharon got.

We found your loved one.

Sharon helps each one, guides them through the process.

the DNA testing, the legal battles, the funerals.

Three years after Tyler’s burial, Sharon visits his grave on a Sunday morning, April 3rd, 2022.

10 years since Tyler died.

She brings roses, his favorite.

Sits on the grass next to his headstone.

Hey baby, it’s me.

10 years, a whole decade since I lost you.

She touches the headstone.

I’ve been thinking about what justice means.

I thought it meant punishing the people who hurt you and we did that.

Derek and Carlson are in prison.

Bod’s exhibition changed their policies.

Laws were passed.

But it’s bigger than that.

Sharon wipes her eyes.

Justice is also about making sure it doesn’t happen again, about protecting other families.

The foundation has helped 206 families now.

206 people who got answers, who brought their loved ones home.

That’s because of you.

Because your story showed people what was happening.

A breeze blows.

Sharon closes her eyes.

I miss you every day.

I think about who you’d be now.

32 years old, maybe married, maybe with kids, all the things you’ll never get to do.

She opens her eyes.

But I’m making sure your life mattered.

That your death created change.

The foundation is growing.

We’re pushing for federal legislation now.

The Dignity and Death Act would require nationwide tracking of remains.

Would make body trafficking a federal crime.

Sharon stands.

I love you, baby.

I’ll see you next week.

Keep watching over me.

We’re not done yet.

The Dignity and Death Act becomes Sharon’s focus.

She testifies before Congress multiple times, meets with senators, with representatives, shares Tyler’s story over and over.

The funeral industry fights the bill, lobbies against it, claims it’s too burdensome, too expensive.

But Sharon doesn’t stop.

She brings families with her to Washington.

People whose loved ones were stolen.

People who scattered fake ashes.

People who buried empty caskets.

She brings photos, documents, evidence of an industry that prays on grieving families.

Slowly, support builds.

Senators start listening.

Representatives start paying attention.

The bill passes.

Committee, goes to full vote.

The debate is heated, but ultimately compassion wins.

December 20th, 2024.

The Dignity and Death Act passes both houses of Congress.

The president signs it into law.

Mandatory tracking of all human remains.

Federal oversight of the funeral industry.

Severe penalties for body trafficking.

Protection for families.

Sharon watches the signing ceremony on TV.

In her living room alone, except for Tyler’s photo on the mantle.

She cries.

Not sad tears.

Grateful tears.

Exhausted tears.

We did it, baby.

She whispers.

We changed the law.

We protected people.

She thinks about the journey.

The phone call 6 years ago that changed everything.

The trip to Las Vegas, finding Tyler, the fight to bring him home, the battles with corporations and courts and public opinion.

It almost broke her multiple times.

She almost gave up, almost walked away.

But she didn’t because Tyler deserved better.

Because other families deserved better.

And now because of Tyler, because of his story, the system is different, not perfect, not complete, but better.

That’s justice, not revenge, not punishment, change, protection.

Making sure others don’t suffer the same fate.

Sharon visits Tyler’s grave the next Sunday, tells him about the law.

Federal law, baby, nationwide, because of you.

Because I refuse to let them forget you were a person.

someone who mattered.

She touches the headstone.

I’m 60 years old now, getting tired, but I can’t stop yet.

There’s still work to do.

Still families who need help.

Still people who don’t know their loved ones were stolen.

Sharon stands.

The sun is setting.

Golden light across the cemetery.

I’ll keep fighting for as long as I can, for as long as I’m breathing.

Because that’s what you deserve.

That’s what they all deserve.

She walks back to her car.

Tomorrow she’ll go to work at the hospital.

Tomorrow she’ll answer emails from families who need help.

Tomorrow she’ll keep fighting because a mother never stops fighting for her child.

Even after they’re gone, even after justice is served, the fight continues always.

Tyler’s Truth Foundation continues its work.

By 2025, they’ve helped over 300 families, exposed 32 corrupt funeral directors, passed legislation in 18 states, plus federal law.

Sharon is still the face of the movement, still testifying, still advocating, still helping families one by one.

She gets emails every week.

We were told our son was cremated.

Can you help? Our mother’s body ended up in a medical school.

What do we do? Sharon helps every single person because she remembers what it felt like to be told your loved one is gone.

To mourn and then to discover you were lied to.

That’s the story.

That’s the journey.

That’s what it means to never give up.

Sharon Williams lost her son twice.

Once to murder, once to theft.

But she got him back.

And in the process, she changed an entire industry.

Tyler is at rest now.

has been for six years in the ground at Forest Lawn under the oak tree where Sharon visits every Sunday.

And because of him, because of his mother’s love, 300 other families got their loved ones back, too.

That’s justice.

That’s love.

That’s what it means to fight for what’s right.

Even when the world tells you to give up, even when corporations have unlimited money and you have none, even when courts rule against you and public opinion turns on you, you keep fighting because some things are worth fighting for.

Your child is always worth fighting for.

Always.

The end.