Another transfer, this one for seven hundred thousand, carried the same red code: *H-7-B*.

I remembered my mother telling me once, when I was a teenager, that she kept a private key for her ledgers in case anyone ever tried to alter them.

She called it her “safety net.”

I set the ledger down and began rummaging through the bottom of the trunk, searching for her personal journal from that year.

My fingers brushed against a small, blue velvet notebook buried beneath a stack of old tax returns.

I pulled it out and blew the dust off the cover.

I opened the blue notebook to the first page.

Written in her hand was a single sentence: *For Evelyn, when the house begins to fall.*

My breath caught in my throat.

I quickly turned the pages, searching for the code *H-7-B*.

On the third page, I found a list of corresponding entries, written in her tightest, most hurried script.

I began to read the decoded notes, my eyes widening as the numbers on the page began to tell a completely different story.

Suddenly, the floorboard behind me creaked.