The old tumblers ground together, then clicked open.

I pulled the heavy door back just enough for us to slip inside.

The air inside was cold and smelled of river silt, old ropes, and gasoline.

I gently lowered Caroline onto an overturned wooden crate.

She gasped, cradling her leg.

“Let me see,” I said, kneeling on the damp concrete floor.

I ran my fingers over her ankle.

It was already swelling, stretching the thin leather of her boot.

“It’s just a sprain,” I whispered, though I wasn’t entirely sure.

“What did you take from the safe, Clara?” she asked.

Her voice trembled in the darkness of the boathouse.

“The records Grandfather kept hidden,” I said.

I unbuckled my bag and pulled out the ledger.

It was bound in cracked black calfskin with heavy brass corners.

My phone screen lit up again in my hand.

It was another text from Lydia.

*Warren Bellamy just filed an emergency motion to expedite the zoning clearance,* she wrote.

*He’s trying to bypass the public comment period.*

I typed a quick reply.

*I have the ledger. Give me ten minutes.*