“Where to?” he asked, looking over at me with a soft smile.

“Let’s go home,” I said, leaning my head back against the seat.

As we pulled away from the curb, my phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting a call from the hospital or another detective.

Instead, the screen lit up with an unknown number, and a single text message appeared.

The message contained only a photo, and as the image loaded, my breath caught in my throat.

It was a photograph of a rusty metal safe box sitting on a concrete floor.

Arthur Bennett stood next to it, holding a heavy iron key and smiling faintly at the camera.

Underneath the image, a text from Detective Harper appeared.

“We found the secondary stash under the floorboards of the tool shed,” the message read.

“What is it?” Wyatt asked, slowing the truck down for a red light on High Street.

“Arthur found the rest of the deeds,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“They tried to hide them before the police arrived.”

Wyatt reached over and squeezed my hand, his palm warm and reassuring.