I looked down at the thick manila folder still tucked under my arm.

My mother’s medical charts.

I opened the tab and began flipping through the yellowed pages.

Dr. Patel’s signature was on almost every sheet.

Between two pages detailing her final hospital stay, a folded piece of grid paper was tucked.

I pulled it out and unfolded it.

It was covered in handwritten rows of letters and numbers.

“What is this?” I asked, showing it to him.

Roman leaned closer, his eyes scanning the columns.

“It’s a cipher key,” he said. “The ledger is encrypted. Without this, the numbers are useless.”

“My mother didn’t know anything about cryptography,” I said.

“She didn’t,” Roman said. “But your father knew her medical files were the one place my family would never look.”

He took the paper and slipped it into his inner pocket next to the key.

“Now we have everything we need,” he said. “We have to go.”

The footsteps below suddenly stopped.

A floorboard creaked at the very bottom of the stairs.

Roman stood up, drawing his gun in one smooth motion.