It sounded like someone was throwing a heavy weight against the barricaded door.

The security guard near the door raised his pistol, keeping his sights aligned with the metal cabinet.

“They’re trying to break the lock,” the guard warned.

My father reached under his thin pillow, his fingers searching for something in the dark.

He pulled out a small, tarnished silver key on a faded blue ribbon.

He pressed it into my palm and closed my fingers over it.

“The ledger is in the old freezer room beneath the Crystal Oak,” my father whispered.

“Behind the false brick in the dry storage unit.”

“You must get it, Emily.”

Another heavy blow struck the door, and the metal cabinet slid forward an inch.

Dust fell from the ceiling tiles, floating through the beams of our flashlights.

From the hallway, a muffled voice shouted an order, but the words were drowned out by the wind.

“We have to go, now,” Charles said, stepping toward the bed to help my father up.

But my father shook his head, holding his chest as his breathing became shallow.