“Stay behind me.”
For once, I did.
We searched the house room by room.
Empty.
My mother was gone.
In her bedroom, the closet had been pulled apart. In the attic, the cedar trunk sat open.
Inside were old Christmas ornaments, my father’s sweaters, a box of photographs.
No notebooks.
No documents.
Nothing.
I sank to my knees.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”
Nathan crouched beside me, but did not touch me.
“There may be another place.”
I looked at him through tears. “How would you know?”
“Because your father was careful. If he had evidence powerful men wanted buried, he would not leave it where anyone expected.”
Something in my chest twisted.
I hated that he sounded right.
Then I remembered.
The piano.
My father had bought it from a church basement when I was nine. It was ugly, scratched, always slightly out of tune, but he loved it. After he died, my mother refused to sell it.
“He said music was math learning how to breathe,” I whispered.
Nathan’s eyes sharpened. “What?”
I was already running downstairs.
The piano sat against the dining room wall, dark and silent.
I knelt beside it and ran my hands beneath the wooden frame. Dust coated my fingers. For a moment, I found nothing.
Then my nail caught on a narrow groove.
A hidden panel slid open.
Inside was a small metal box.
My breath stopped.
Nathan stood behind me, silent.
The box was locked with a four-digit code.
I knew it before I thought.
My birthday.
It opened.
Inside were three leather notebooks, a flash drive, and a sealed envelope with my name written in my father’s handwriting.
Maya.
The sight of it destroyed me.
I pressed the envelope to my chest and sobbed once, hard, before forcing myself to open it.
The letter was short.
My dearest Maya,
If you are reading this, then the truth has finally found you.
I wanted to leave you money. I wanted to leave you safety. Instead, I am leaving you a burden I prayed you would never have to carry.
Northstar was not stolen from me alone. It was built from a promise three men made and two men broke.
