It was tucked under a loose drawer liner in Walter’s desk, addressed in his handwriting: For Joanna, if anyone tries to take the house.

My hands shook so much I couldn’t open it.

Mara looked at the seal.

“We’ll photograph it first.

If it contains relevant original documents, we’ll preserve them.”

I watched the phone camera flash.

For a moment I was thirteen again, standing in Walter’s workshop as he showed me how to sharpen a wood chisel.

“Never cut toward your hand,” he told me.