“I’m not here to decide yet.”
“I know.”
The door rolled upward with a metallic rattle.
Inside were six cardboard boxes, a small filing cabinet, two plastic storage bins, and an old wooden trunk. A folded chair leaned against the wall. Dust covered the floor except for a narrow path near the back.
Nothing looked dramatic.
Nothing looked like the hiding place of a life-changing secret.
And yet my pulse had begun to pound.
Mr. Ellis took photographs before anyone touched anything.
The first box contained bank statements, tax papers, and insurance documents. The second held Grandma’s medical records and old receipts. The third was filled with letters, most of them unopened.
Mom stood near the entrance, reluctant to move farther inside.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t know what was here.”
“You were the emergency contact.”
“That didn’t mean I had access.”
“You had access to my accounts.”
Her face tightened.
“I had access because the bank gave it to me when you were a minor. I never used it without your grandmother’s permission.”
Mr. Ellis looked up.
“Let’s keep the questions precise.”
I nodded, though my frustration remained.
Daniel opened the filing cabinet.
The top drawer held folders marked with dates. The bottom drawer was locked.
“Do you have the key?” Mr. Ellis asked.
Daniel reached into his pocket and removed a small brass key.
“Your grandmother gave this to me.”
He handed it to me instead.
I hesitated, then took it.
The key felt warm from his hand.
“Open it,” he said.
The lock turned with a soft click.
Inside the drawer were three folders and a black laptop in a padded sleeve.
The first folder was labeled **EDUCATION**.
The second said **MEDICAL**.
The third had my full name written across it.
I lifted it out.
My birth certificate was inside, along with old school records, copies of medical forms, and a stack of bank documents. Some were familiar. Others I had never seen.
Mr. Ellis examined the first page.
“This is the original custodial agreement,” he said.
“Who was the custodian?”
He turned the document toward me.
My mother’s name appeared beneath the word **custodian**.
I looked at Mom.
“You told me you never controlled the account.”
“I didn’t control the second account.”
“This is the birthday account.”
“I know.”
“Then what does this mean?”
