Inside lay the clear plastic sleeve with my scratch-off lottery ticket, quiet and flat against the gray metal lining.

A notary public standing beside Arthur stamped the white custody ledger, recording the exact minute, the date, and the box number in thick black ink.

“Box contents verified before a legal witness,” Arthur said, signing his name on the line below mine.

“Will this chain of custody record hold up in court tomorrow morning?” I asked.

“This ledger is an official bank record,” Arthur said, sliding the box back into its dark compartment.

“No one touches this vault without a signed court order.”