Heavy, slow footsteps began to descend the wooden steps, creaking under a heavy weight.

The shadow on the wall stretched long and distorted.

Arthur’s polished leather shoes appeared on the wooden step first.

Behind him, my mother Helen followed, her hand gripping the banister as if she might fall.

“What is going on down here?” Arthur asked, his voice echoing in the damp space.

His eyes locked onto the folder in my hand, then moved to Brooke, who was shrinking back against the old boiler.

“Brooke, I told you to stay upstairs,” Helen whispered, her face pale under the basement’s single bulb.

“She was trying to make a deal with me,” I said, stepping backward toward the concrete wall.

I tucked the First Star deeds tighter under my arm, feeling the thick parchment press against my ribs.

“Emily,” Arthur said, taking another step down. “Give me those papers. You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

“I know exactly what they are,” I said, keeping my voice cold.

The air in the basement smelled of wet earth, old coal dust, and decay.