But my eyes were drawn to the floor behind the desk.

A small black iron safe was bolted to the floor, its dial gleaming in the dim light.

Next to it lay a crumpled sheet of paper, freshly discarded.

I knelt down and picked up the paper, smoothing it out with my cold fingers.

My heart stopped as I read the heading at the top of the page.

The heading read *Bellamy Group Security Protocols*.

Below it, someone had written three numbers in thick black ink: 40-10-85.

I looked at the iron safe on the floor, its dark surface reflecting the weak light.

“Charles,” I said, pointing to the paper. “I think this is the combination.”

Charles knelt beside me on the dusty floorboards, his woolen coat brushing against my arm.

He took the crumpled paper from my hand and examined the handwriting.

“That is Trevor’s writing,” Charles said. “I recognize his signature from the restaurant invoices.”

He reached out and grabbed the cold dial of the safe.

“Let me try,” he whispered.

He turned the dial slowly to the left, stopping at forty.