Then she walked down the short hallway, opened the linen cupboard, and pulled a heavy rectangular metal box out from behind a pile of folded bath towels.

“I put this away the week after Frank took you,” Claire said, setting the gray metal box on the table between our coffee cups.

“I was scared your uncle would come by with a spare key and go through the house while I was at work.”

She took a small brass key from her sweater pocket, fitted it into the lock, and turned it until the latch popped open.

Inside lay a thick stack of legal papers stamped in red ink, along with a single white envelope gone yellow at the edges.