The butler opened the heavy front door before we could even reach for the brass knocker.

He looked at Nathan, then at me, his eyes lingering on my face with a quiet, knowing respect.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Nathan?” the butler asked, his voice hushed.

“We need to go to the study, Thomas,” Nathan said, not stopping to take off his coat. “Please ensure we are not disturbed.”

“Of course, sir,” Thomas replied, stepping aside.

We walked down the long, carpeted hallway, our footsteps muffled by the thick crimson rugs.

The study was located at the very end of the hall, behind a set of carved oak doors.

Nathan pushed them open, and the scent of old paper, leather-bound books, and stale cigar smoke washed over us.

The room was dark, the heavy green velvet curtains drawn tight against the gloomy afternoon.

Nathan walked over to the desk and switched on the brass banker’s lamp.

A warm, green light spilled across the polished desk and the leather chairs.

“The safe is behind the portrait of my grandfather,” Nathan said, pointing to the oil painting on the far wall.