My father-in-law arrived at our divorce hearing wearing my late mother’s watch and announced, “Everything valuable in this marriage belongs to my son.” I said nothing until the clerk wheeled in six sealed boxes from the family warehouse.

With Greg’s cooperation, the FBI traced Arthur’s hidden offshore accounts to the Cayman Islands. These were the accounts holding the millions of dollars he had fenced from the stolen heirlooms.

But we hit a wall. The accounts were protected by a complex, dual-authentication biometric lock. The feds couldn't crack it.

I sat in my office, staring at Julian's lockbox. I had scoured every page of the ledger. There was nothing about offshore passwords.

Then, I looked at the bottom of the lockbox itself.

It was slightly thicker than it should have been. I grabbed a flathead screwdriver from Julian's old red toolbox and pried at the metal seam.

With a sharp crack, a false bottom popped open.

Inside was a single USB drive and a handwritten note.

Clara, if you are reading this, I am gone. My father found out I was going to the FBI. My brakes have been feeling soft. If something happens to me, it wasn't an accident. Plug this in.