Above the fireplace hung a massive oil painting of the family patriarch, Arthur Monroe.

He looked down at us with stern, painted eyes.

“Behind the portrait,” Julianne said, pointing a finger at the fireplace.

“The safe is built into the brickwork.”

I walked over to the fireplace.

The smell of cold ash and soot was strong here.

“Grant, tell them to stop,” Patricia said from the doorway.

Her voice was no longer commanding; it had a thin, sharp edge of panic.

“They don’t have a warrant for that room,” Patricia said.

“Actually, we do, Mrs. Monroe,” General Vance said, stepping into the study.

He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his tunic pocket and held it up.

“Federal search warrant, signed by a magistrate three hours ago,” Vance said.

“We have full jurisdiction over any material related to national security.”

I looked back at the portrait.

“How does it open, Julianne?” I asked.

“There is a latch on the right side of the frame,” Julianne said.

“Under the carved molding.”

I reached up and ran my fingers along the dusty wooden frame.