I’d opened it years ago to store certain documents James had wanted kept separate from our home safe.

That morning I’d called ahead to arrange after-hours access, leveraging my fifty-year relationship with the bank’s manager.

Alice was suitably impressed by the security procedures—the verification of my identity, the dual keys needed to reach the vault area, the hushed tones of the manager as he escorted us to a private room.

To her, this beat any pretend game of spies or explorers.

This was real adventure with real treasure.

“This is where we’ll keep everything safe until the right time,” I told her as we carefully arranged the items in the large box.