“I have been better,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together to restore circulation.

I found a dusty metal flashlight on a nearby shelf and switched it on.

The yellow beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a cluttered workbench and several covered pallets.

I walked over to a gray metal filing cabinet in the far corner of the space.

Behind it, set directly into the concrete floor, was a small, heavy steel safe.

I knelt down, my wet knees pressing against the cold, damp concrete.

My fingers were numb, but I managed to spin the dial to the combination my father had made me memorize.

The heavy safe door swung open with a low creak.

Inside sat a rugged, military-grade external hard drive wrapped in a static-free sleeve.

“What is that?” Alexander asked, walking over to stand behind me.

“My father’s legacy,” I said, lifting the heavy drive out of the safe. “And the proof you need.”

I carried the drive to the workbench and plugged it into an old, ruggedized laptop I kept stored in a sealed plastic bin.