He believed both of those things completely, and he was wrong about both, and the instrument of how wrong he was fit in the palm of my hand and weighed almost nothing at all.

Chapter 10 — The Lockbox

At nine the next morning, I sat across from Arthur Vance in his downtown Chicago office, and without any unnecessary ceremony he took an antique wooden lockbox from his wall safe and set it on the mahogany desk between us.

Its small silver padlock matched the key in my hand precisely.

I put the key in, and I turned it, and it opened with a soft, final click.

Inside were three things: a worn leather bank ledger, a sealed envelope with my name on it in Evelyn’s shaky hand, and a certified copy of a notarized last will and testament.