Inside, the low, thumping bass from Brent’s video game throbbed through the walls and rattled the glass of the porch light.

I skipped the front door.

I unlocked the side garage door with my brass key instead.

The garage had no heat and smelled of lawnmower gasoline and damp cardboard.

In the far corner, behind two folded webbed lawn chairs and an old push mower, stood my father’s gray metal filing cabinet.

I put a blue plastic storage bin down on the concrete floor.

The filing cabinet key was right where my father had hidden it twenty years earlier, taped under the lip of the bottom drawer.