The main house was quiet, the curtains drawn against the grey morning light.

Daniel’s car was gone, likely because he was at the bank trying to resolve the frozen accounts.

I walked along the gravel path toward the stone guest house at the back of the property.

This was Richard’s domain, a place where he spent his afternoons pretending to read financial journals.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my ring of spare keys.

Years ago, Margaret had given me a set to water the plants while they were in Florida.

The brass key slid into the lock with a soft click.

I turned it, pushed the heavy door open, and stepped inside.

The room smelled of old paper, leather, and pipe tobacco.

A massive mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, clutter-free.

Behind it stood three steel filing cabinets.

I walked over to the first cabinet and tugged the handle.

Locked.

I tried the small brass keys on my ring, one by one.

The third key turned the cylinder, and the drawer rolled open with a heavy metallic sigh.