Dust fell from the doorframe, settling on my hair and shoulders.

“Is there another way out?” I whispered, my gun still pointed toward the entrance.

Victor didn’t look at the door; he kept his eyes on the small black transponder.

“The cellar stairs,” he said, his voice raspy and thin. “They lead to the old drainage canal behind the property.”

He reached into his coat pocket, his fingers trembling, and pulled out a small, brass-plated key.

He inserted it into the lockbox on the desk and turned it until a dull click echoed in the small room.

The lid popped open.

Inside lay a thick sheaf of yellowed paper and a single, outdated USB flash drive with a cracked casing.

“Look at the first sheet,” Victor said, gesturing with a hand that looked older than his sixty-eight years.

I kept one eye on the door and used my left hand to slide the papers out of the steel box.

My eyes scanned the top page.

It was a printout of an encrypted transaction ledger from nineteen ninety-four, the year my brother was killed.