The manager stepped closer and slid the passbook back toward me very carefully, almost respectfully now.
“Do not let this out of your possession,” he said quietly.
“No matter who asks for it.”
Fear crawled up my spine.
“What is this?”
The older officer looked around the bank before answering.
“Not here.”
—
Twenty minutes later, I sat inside a private conference room at the downtown precinct with the passbook on the table between us.
Rain hammered the windows outside while detectives moved rapidly through the hallway beyond the glass.
The older officer introduced himself as Detective Alvarez.
Across from him sat a woman from the bank’s fraud division whose face still looked pale.
Alvarez folded his hands.
“Miss Hayes… did your grandmother ever mention a man named Walter Greene?”
I frowned.
“No.”
The fraud investigator opened the passbook carefully.
Inside the back cover was something I hadn’t noticed before.
A hidden compartment.
And tucked inside—
a tiny yellowed key.
My breathing stopped.
“What is that?”
The investigator answered quietly:
“A deposit box key.”
Detective Alvarez leaned forward.
“For a vault account untouched since 1987.”
The room went silent.
