Part 27
We went back downstairs, but the appetite we had felt earlier was entirely gone.
Derek turned off the stove, leaving the pot of sauce to cool on the burner, a stark reminder of our interrupted peace.
We sat at the kitchen table, the black envelope resting between us like a ticking bomb.
"We have to call Marcus," Derek said, pacing across the linoleum floor.
"Marcus is the one who helped us forge the deeds, Derek. If they found us, they might have found him too," I argued.
"Or worse, he gave us up to save his own skin."
The thought of being completely alone, with no allies left in the world, was terrifying.
My mind raced back to my husband's final days, his frantic warnings about the true extent of the legacy.
He had always told me that if the blue folder failed, there was a backup plan, a final contingency.
But he had died before he could tell me where it was or what it actually opened.
"The note mentions a key," Derek said, stopping his pacing and looking at me. "Do you know what key they are talking about?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, brass key I had carried with me for months.
"I thought this was just for the safety deposit box we already emptied," I said, placing it on the table.
Derek picked it up, turning it over under the bright kitchen light.
"Look at the ridges, Mom. This isn't a standard bank key."
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He was right; the teeth of the key were intricately carved, forming a small, stylized shape of an oak tree at the base.
The exact same oak tree that was stamped on the cover of the blue folder.
