“Then it’s a good thing I’m the only family member who actually paid the back taxes,” I said.

“Now, both of you need to leave before I call the sheriff.”

Ethan grabbed Megan’s wrist, dragging her toward the entryway.

Megan didn’t fight him, but she looked back at me once, her eyes wide with a strange mix of guilt and fear.

The heavy oak door slammed shut, rattling the brass light fixtures in the hallway.

The silence of the old Craftsman house settled back over me.

I walked into the library, where the dark wood paneling always seemed to hold a chill.

The room smelled of old paper, rain, and beeswax.

I needed to find the old documents my grandfather had left behind in the wall safe.

My hand brushed against the carved oak molding near the built-in bookshelves.

Something felt loose under my palm, shifting slightly.

I pressed harder against a small, raised knot in the wood.

A narrow panel clicked open with a soft sigh of ancient dust.

Inside the small wall cavity lay a heavy brass key wrapped in a faded piece of parchment paper.

My fingers trembled as I reached into the dark space and pulled it out.

The brass was cold and tarnished, shaped with an ornate, circular bow.

I carefully unfolded the paper on the desk.

The ink had turned a dull brown over the decades.

Written in elegant, hurried script were two names I had never heard spoken in this house.

*Daniel Voss.*

And next to his name, written in darker, bolder ink: *Rose Bennett Voss.*

At the bottom of the page, a single sentence was scrawled in my grandmother’s handwriting.

*Keep the key hidden from Claire; she must never know Rose came back for him.*

My phone vibrated violently against the wooden desk, the screen illuminating the dark room.

An unknown number flashed on the display.