By noon, I learned he had passed away peacefully in his sleep. He was eighty-four.

The funeral was small. Much smaller than I had expected.

When the service ended, I was about to leave when a man in a dark suit approached me.

“Are you Julian, the neighbor who used to help Mr.

Sterling?” he asked.

I nodded.

“I’m his lawyer.”

Then he handed me an old battered suitcase.

“Mr.

Sterling specifically instructed me to give this to you.”

I carried it home, confused and heavy-hearted.