“Help me move this.”
The bench was heavier than I remembered.
We shifted it away from the wall.
Behind it was a narrow wooden panel.
Dad pressed one corner.
The panel opened.
Inside was an old iron lock.
I stared at him.
“You built a hidden compartment?”
“Your grandfather did.”
That surprised me even more.
Dad inserted the rusty key.
For a moment, it resisted.
Then the lock turned.
Inside the compartment was a wooden box.
No cash.
No jewelry.
No dramatic treasure.
Documents.
Letters.
A ledger.
Several sealed envelopes.
And a thin notebook tied with the same blue thread as the key.
Dad took everything to the workbench.
“What is this?”
“Our history,” he said.
I opened the ledger.
The first page was dated thirty-nine years earlier.
There were handwritten figures beside names I recognized.
My grandmother.
My mother’s older sister.
Dad’s former business partner.
Then I saw something else.
