The first time my dad brought me to meet a stranger in an empty parking lot, I thought we were committing a crime. I was nineteen. It was a bright, summery afternoon when we found ourselves idling in the middle of an open strip mall, indiscreetly waiting for our accomplice. My dad was busy on WhatsApp, messaging our associate. I was trying not to look at the security guard, whose narrowed eyes were beginning to warm the surface of my skin. Soon, a black minivan arrived and parked a couple rows across from us. A middle-aged woman stepped out and looked around, before waving us over. We tried to make small talk as she opened her trunk to hand us our goods. My dad passed her $20 in cash. After hurried goodbyes, we scurried quickly back to our car. The deal was done. 

I kept the box safely in my ...