Seven months after our divorce, I rushed into St. Jude’s Children’s and Women’s Hospital, still angry at my ex-wife, only to learn that she had just given birth to twin boys, and both of them were mine. Before the night was over, a nurse would place a brass key in my hand and tell me to use it before my own family arrived. And what was waiting for me beyond that was even more shocking.

“Yes, right now, before your father’s morning meeting happens,” she urged.

“What exactly am I looking for once I get there?” I asked.

“The hidden room your grandfather always called ‘the quiet room,'” she revealed.

“And my grandfather’s personal letter?” I pressed.

“Look for it there, if it hasn’t already been taken,” she answered carefully.

“And what if my father’s team has already taken it?” I asked, bracing for the worst.

Sylvia turned her eyes toward the closed door my mother had just walked out of.