“Sarah Carter,” she repeated. “I remember your mother, dear.”

She reached for a large, leather-bound ledger from the shelf behind her.

“It has been a very long time since anyone asked about that box,” she said.

She flipped through the yellowed pages, her finger tracing down a list of names.

“Here it is,” she said. “Box number one hundred and twelve.”

She looked at Nathan, then back at me.

“I will need to see some identification, Emily,” she said.

I handed her my driver’s license.

She checked the name, then nodded slowly.

“Follow me,” she said, lifting a wooden gate in the counter.

We walked down a short, dim hallway to the back of the bank.

The heavy steel door of the vault stood open, showing rows of small metal boxes.

The room smelled of old paper and cold metal.

The teller walked to the far corner and inserted her master key into box one hundred and twelve.

“Now yours,” she said, stepping aside.

My hand shook as I inserted the small brass key into the second slot.

I turned it, and the lock released with a heavy click.