Chapter 3: The Number on the Key
Arthur let the phone ring out.
He set it face-down on the side table, looked at the two children sitting on his couch, and made a decision.
Whatever was on the other end of that call could wait.
Whatever was in that letter could not.
"I need you both to tell me everything," he said.
"From the beginning.
Not the short version."
Maya pulled her knees to her chest.
Ethan stared at the key in Arthur's hand.
"Mom worked for a company," Ethan said slowly.
"She did their accounting.
She'd been there six years."
"Which company?"
"Hargrove Capital." Ethan said the name carefully, like it had weight.
"She said it was a good job.
She never complained about it.
But about four months ago, she started keeping the office door closed when she was on the phone.
She started printing things and locking them in that box."
Arthur looked at the key.
The number stamped into the brass was 114.
"What box?"
"A safety deposit box," Maya said.
"At the bank on Clement Street.
She took us with her once when she opened the account.
She said if anything ever happened to her, we had to get that key to you."
Arthur's throat tightened.
"She said that to you directly?
In those words?"
Maya nodded.
"She said, 'If I'm not here, find Arthur.
Don't trust anyone else.
Not the police.
Not anyone from work.
Only Arthur.'"
He stood up and walked to the window.
The street below was quiet.
A car he didn't recognize was parked two houses down, engine off, no one visible inside.
"What's in the letter, Arthur?" Ethan asked.
"You read it three times."
Arthur turned back.
The boy was twelve and he was asking like a man who already understood that the answer was going to be bad.
"Your mother found something at Hargrove Capital," Arthur said.
"Something she wasn't supposed to find.
She documented it.
Dates, transactions, names." He paused.
"One of those names is Gerald Whitmore."
Ethan's expression didn't change.
Maya's did.
"That's Victoria's father," Maya said quietly.
"Yes."
"So Victoria knew." It wasn't a question.
Ethan said it flat, like a stone dropped into still water.
"I don't know what Victoria knew," Arthur said.
"But her father knew about your mother.
And he knew she had evidence." He looked at the letter again.
"The underline — someone read this before tonight.
Someone who has been inside your apartment."
Maya's hand went to her mouth.
"The man who came three weeks ago," Arthur said.
"The one who said he just wanted to talk.
Did your mother know him?"
Ethan nodded slowly.
"She called him Mr.
Reeves.
He was her supervisor at Hargrove."
Arthur folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope.
His mind was already moving — the key, the box, the letter, the underlined line, the unknown number, the car outside.
"You're both staying here tonight," he said.
"Don't go near the windows."
"What are you going to do?" Maya asked.
Arthur looked at the brass key in his palm.
Number 114.
Clement Street.
Whatever Claire had locked away in that box, she had trusted him with it more than she had trusted anyone else alive.
He owed her the same.
"I'm going to finish what your mother started," he said.
His phone buzzed again.
Same unknown number.
This time, Arthur picked up.
May you like
The voice on the other end said four words before the line went de@d.
*"Don't open that box."*
