The clerk slid the long metal box out of the wall and carried it to a small private viewing room.

“Take your time,” he said, closing the heavy wooden door of the room behind him.

I was alone in the small room.

A single green shaded lamp sat on the table, casting a warm glow over the wood.

I reached for the lid of the metal box and lifted it.

Inside sat a thick leather-bound book with a brass clasp.

The Blackwell ledger.

My fingers brushed the cold, textured leather.

My heart hammered in my chest as I picked it up.

I opened the cover and saw columns of names, dates, and numbers written in my father’s precise handwriting.

Then, I heard the sound of the wooden door behind me clicking open.

I turned around quickly, expecting the clerk.

Elias stood in the doorway, a key card in his hand.

Behind him, another man stepped into the small, enclosed room.

He wore a grey overcoat, his silver hair combed back, his face thin and sharp.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Father,” I whispered.