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.

“It doesn’t open the main house trust,” Sylvia corrected gently.

“The real trust room is hidden underneath the caretaker’s property.”

I stared at her in complete bewilderment.

“You told me earlier that the records were on Laurel Street,” I reminded her.

“The original audit records are hidden near the main building, but the primary charter trust is built directly under the old grounds,” she clarified smoothly.

“Then why did Nurse Florence say the key opened a locked trust?” I asked, looking at the nurse.

“Because I’m a nurse, not a corporate attorney, and I was just passing along a message,” Florence replied with a tired shrug.