It was the third brick from the bottom, right where Alexander had told me it would be.

I wiggled my fingertips into the narrow gap.

The brick was heavy, cold, and coated in a thin layer of damp grime.

Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, I began to slide it out of the wall.

Santo walked closer to the washing machines on the other side of the cellar.

His boots crunched on some spilled detergent powder on the floor.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, old woman,” Santo muttered.

I pulled the brick completely free and set it silently on the dirt floor behind my heel.

I reached my bare hand deep into the dark cavity of the wall.

My fingertips brushed against the rough surface of textured leather.

It was the ledger.

The book was thick, bound in heavy dark hide and wrapped in a plastic sleeve to keep out the basement dampness.

I gripped the spine tightly and pulled it out of the wall.

It was heavier than I expected, a solid weight in my hands.