Part 15
The attic was thick with the smell of old insulation, dust, and forgotten memories. Armed with flashlights, Jack and I made our way through the narrow walkway, stepping carefully on the wooden joists to avoid falling through the plaster ceiling below. We found the old brick chimney easily, its soot-stained surface rising through the center of the roof.
Just as Jack’s father had said on the tape, two of the floorboards near the base of the chimney were loose. Jack pried them up with a crowbar, revealing a heavy, black iron trunk wrapped in a protective canvas sheet. The silver key slid into the rusted padlock with a tight, scraping click.
When the lid creaked open, we didn't find gold or money. The trunk was filled to the brim with neatly organized folders, legal documents, and old financial ledgers stretching back over a decade. It was the complete archive of Jack’s father’s private business dealings and estate planning.
As I began sifting through the papers, a deep sense of unease settled over me. I kept glancing toward the small, dusty window that overlooked our front street. The sun was beginning to set, casting long, distorted shadows across the neighborhood.
Suddenly, my eyes caught a shape parked under the streetlamp three houses down. It was a sleek, black sedan with heavily tinted windows. The engine was turned off, and the headlights were dark, but I could distinctly see the silhouette of a person sitting in the driver’s seat, completely motionless, staring directly up at our attic window.
"Jack," I whispered, my voice trembling as I grabbed his arm. "Look out the window. Down the street."
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Jack moved slowly, staying low to avoid being seen clearly from the outside. He peered through the dirty glass, his body instantly going rigid. The car had no front license plate. As we watched, the driver briefly turned on the interior light to look at a phone, illuminating a sharp, unfamiliar profile. It wasn't Marlene, and it wasn't anyone we knew.
The moment the person in the car realized we were looking down at them, the interior light snapped off. The engine roared to life with a quiet, menacing purr, and the sedan pulled away from the curb, disappearing into the evening shadows before Jack could even run downstairs to catch a glimpse of the rear plate. They were watching us find the trunk. They knew we were getting closer to the truth, and the countdown had officially begun.
