“We’re fine,” Wyatt said, keeping his arm around my waist.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Harper asked, gesturing to the room.

“Not yet,” I said, looking around the cluttered space.

The room was filled with old metal filing cabinets, wooden crates, and stacks of yellowed paper.

“Arthur said the ledger was in the wall behind the old safe,” I said.

Wyatt walked over to a rusted green safe that sat in the corner of the room.

The plaster behind the safe had already been chipped away, exposing the brick beneath.

A loose brick had been pulled out, leaving a dark, rectangular void in the wall.

Wyatt reached his hand deep into the opening.

He pulled out a thick, leather-bound book wrapped in a plastic grocery bag.

The plastic was dusty, but the book inside was dry and intact.

Wyatt handed the package to me.

I pulled back the plastic and opened the cover of the heavy ledger.

Columns of neat, handwritten figures filled the pages, dating back thirty years.

“This is it,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the ink. “This is the proof of the trust fund.”