It wasn’t storage.

It was a vault.

Someone had built an entire room simply to hide what it contained.

The mechanic opened the nearest filing cabinet.

Inside were dozens of company ledgers.

Payroll records.

Property deeds.

Tax files.

Everything had been organized with frightening precision.

Bram walked toward the old wooden desk.

His hand stopped above one drawer.

“I remember this.”

“You do?”

“Our father never let anyone touch this desk.”

He pulled the drawer open.

It was empty.

Almost.

Only one object remained inside.

A small brass compass.

The glass was cracked.

The needle still pointed north.

I picked it up.

“What is this?”

Bram smiled sadly.

“It was Lucan’s.”

“He carried it everywhere when we were kids.”

I turned it over.

Something rattled inside.

The compass felt heavier than it should.

The mechanic frowned.

“There’s something hidden in it.”

Using the edge of my pocketknife, I carefully loosened the cracked glass.

It lifted away.

Folded beneath the needle was a tiny strip of paper.

No bigger than my thumb.

I unfolded it carefully.

Three words.

Locker 214.

Nothing else.

No address.

No key.

Just…

Locker 214.

“What locker?” Mrs. Pike asked.

No one knew.

Before we could think further, Bram called from the far side of the room.

“Merrick…”

His voice sounded different.

I hurried over.

Behind a row of filing cabinets stood a steel safe built into the wall.

Its heavy door hung slightly open.

Someone had already forced it.

Fresh scrape marks surrounded the lock.

The metal edges still shone silver where the paint had been torn away.

“They’ve been here,” I whispered.

The mechanic ran his fingers across the damaged lock.

“Very recently.”

Inside the safe were empty document folders.

An empty jewelry box.

Several broken cassette cases.

Nothing else.

Whoever entered had taken almost everything.

Except…

One thick folder lying upside down near the back.

Perhaps they had dropped it in the dark.

I picked it up.

Across the front were two typed words.

PROJECT CEDAR

Bram frowned.

“I’ve never heard of that.”

Neither had I.

Inside were only six pages.

The first five were missing.

Only page six remained.

Most of the text had been torn away.

Only a paragraph at the bottom survived.

“…payment delivered after confirmation that the accident would receive no further mechanical investigation…”

I stopped reading.

Every person in the room stared at the page.

The mechanic slowly removed his glasses.

“No…”

His voice barely rose above a whisper.

“This isn’t about an accident anymore.”

I looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

He pointed toward the missing pages.

“If someone paid to stop an investigation…”

He swallowed hard.

“…then someone expected there to be an investigation.”

Silence settled over the hidden room.

The air suddenly felt colder.

I slipped the surviving page into a document sleeve.

“We’re taking this too.”

Just then—

A loud metallic clang echoed somewhere inside the factory.

Not outside.

Inside.

Someone else was in the building.

The mechanic switched off his flashlight instantly.

Everyone froze.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

Getting closer.

Then a man’s voice drifted through the darkness beyond the broken wall.

“I know you’re in there.”

None of us answered.

The footsteps stopped just outside the hidden room.

The stranger chuckled softly.

“You’ve already found more than I hoped.”

My grip tightened around the pry bar.

“Who are you?”

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then the man replied.

“I was Lucan Voss’s lawyer.”

Another pause.

“And I’ve been hiding for twenty-two years because I was supposed to die with him.”

PART 8: “THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE WITH MY FATHER”

No one moved.

The stranger remained just beyond the broken wall.

Only his silhouette was visible through the dust.

Rain dripped through the cracked roof somewhere inside the factory.

The sound echoed across the empty building.

I tightened my grip on the pry bar.

“You said you were my father’s lawyer.”

“I was.”

“Then tell me your name.”

A long silence followed.

Finally, the man stepped into the flashlight’s beam.

He looked to be in his late sixties.

His charcoal overcoat was damp from the storm.

Gray hair curled beneath the brim of a worn felt hat.

A leather briefcase hung from one hand.

“My name is Adrian Foster.”

The mechanic inhaled sharply.

“I remember you.”

Adrian nodded.

“You repaired my truck more than once.”

The mechanic looked stunned.

“I thought you disappeared.”

“I did.”

Adrian’s eyes settled on Bram.

“And I believe you hoped I never came back.”

Bram lowered his head.

“I never knew if you were alive.”

“Neither did the people looking for me.”

I stepped forward.

“You knew my father?”

Adrian gave a sad smile.

“I knew him well.”

“He hired me three months before he died.”

“For what?”

“To protect evidence.”

The room fell silent.

“What evidence?”

He slowly opened his briefcase.

Inside were several neatly arranged folders wrapped in waterproof plastic.

He removed one.

Across the front were the words:

LUCAN VOSS – PERSONAL INSTRUCTIONS

My pulse quickened.

Adrian held the folder but did not hand it to me immediately.

“Before I give you this…”

“…I need to know one thing.”

He looked directly into my eyes.

“Did Odette trust you?”

I thought of Mrs. Voss dividing one potato between two meals.

The wool scarf.

The unpaid twenty dollars.

The blue room.

The Thursday Room.

“Yes.”

His shoulders relaxed.

“Then she chose correctly.”

He finally placed the folder in my hands.

Inside was a signed legal agreement dated only eight days before Lucan’s death.

The first page read:

CONFIDENTIAL ESCROW INSTRUCTIONS

I quickly turned to the final page.

Lucan’s signature.

Adrian’s signature.

Two witness signatures.

One name caught my attention.

Gideon Marsh.

Mrs. Voss’s estate attorney.

“He knew?” I asked quietly.

Adrian nodded.

“Gideon and I worked together.”

“We promised Lucan that if anything happened to him…”

“…the evidence would eventually reach his child.”

I looked up.

“So why wait twenty-two years?”

Pain crossed Adrian’s face.

“Because I couldn’t find you.”

“My mother…”

“…moved three times.”

“I know.”

“I found each address after she had already left.”

“What about after she died?”

“I searched.”

“For years.”

He looked toward Bram.

“But every time I got close…”

“…someone warned the Voss family.”

Bram’s face turned pale.

“I never told anyone.”

“I believe you.”

Adrian didn’t sound angry.

Only tired.

He removed another envelope from the briefcase.

This one was yellow with age.

“My father wrote this the night before he died.”