Grandpa was gone… how could he have sent me a letter?
It must have been delivered by the lawyer handling his estate. They’d said some final documents might arrive. Still, I hadn’t expected anything like this.
Inside was a letter and a small brass key — old-fashioned, the kind that looked like it belonged to a jewelry box or diary.
The letter read:
“My dear Marin, This key will open my secret compartment hidden beneath the rug in the attic. There you will find the truth I have hidden from you your entire life. Forgive me — I had no other choice.”
The truth? What truth?
I rushed upstairs. The attic smelled of dust and mothballs, filled with old cardboard boxes and Christmas decorations. But now it felt like the walls were holding their breath.
In the corner lay the faded Persian rug Grandpa had always kept. I pulled it back and found a small compartment cut into the floorboards, secured with a brass lock.
I slipped the key in. It turned with a loud click.
Inside were stacks of legal folders, thick and worn, stamped with dates going back more than 20 years.
