She was talking about Leo, a three-year-old child.

“I have to go,” Mrs. Higgins said.

“The nanny is probably looking for him.”

She clicked the phone off and shoved it into her pocket.

I heard her sharp footsteps move back toward the bedroom door.

The door opened, then clicked shut.

I waited in the dark, counting to sixty.

My hands were shaking.

I pushed the wardrobe doors open and stepped out into the cold room.

The air felt thin, but I didn’t have time to catch my breath.

I turned back to the wardrobe and pushed the loose wooden panel aside again.

The blue light of the digital safe stared back at me.

I reached out with a trembling finger and pressed the numbers from the note.

1-0-2-4-0-9.

A soft beep echoed in the quiet room.

Then, a heavy mechanical click.

The safe door swung open.

Inside lay a thick leather ledger and a stack of letters tied with a black silk ribbon.

I pulled the letters out first.

The top envelope was made of the same cream-colored cardstock as the note in my hand.