Evelyn locked Noah outside in the snow with no coat while Daniel watched.

The root cellar was cool and dry. Shelves lined the walls. But my eyes were fixed on the far wall. On one brick, marked with a faint cross.

I found a loose brick beside it and pulled. The brick slid aside. And there, set deep into the wall, was a metal box.

I pulled it out. It was heavy. Cold. Sealed tight. There was no keyhole. Only a combination lock.

Three numbers.

I stared at it. My heart sank. I didn’t know the combination.

Then I remembered.

My birthday.

I turned the dial. 0 – 5 – 1.

Nothing.

Emily’s birthday. Still nothing.

My grandfather’s birthday. Nothing.

I sat back on my heels. What was important to him? What did he love more than anything?

Me.

I thought about the day I was born. The year. The month. The day.

I turned the dial. 0 – 5 – 1 – 5.

Click.

The lock sprang open.

My breath caught. I lifted the lid.

Inside, stacked neatly, were documents. Thick folders. Bank statements. Handwritten notes. And on top… a single USB drive. Taped to the lid. Labeled in my grandfather’s handwriting: HIS VOICE. HIS FACE. PROOF.

I pulled the drive free. I held it tight in my hand.

This was it. Everything.

I closed the box and pushed it back into the wall. I climbed the steps, replaced the stone, and slipped back out of the study.

But as I reached the hallway, I froze.

Standing there was Robert.

He looked down at me. His face was pale. His eyes wide.

"You," he whispered. "You are alive."

I stepped back.

"What do you have in your hand?" he demanded. He took a step forward. "Give it to me."

I gripped the drive tight.

"It’s mine," I said. My voice shook. But I didn’t look away.

Robert stopped. He looked at my hand. Then at the open door behind me.

"You found it," he said quietly. "Your grandfather’s box. I knew he had something hidden. I just never could find it."

He held out his hand.

"Give it to me, Noah. I will make it worth your while. I will let your mother go. I will leave you both alone. Just… give it to me."

"Why should I trust you?" I asked.

Robert was quiet. Then he said:

"You shouldn’t. But you are seven years old. You cannot fight me. If you do not give it to me… I will take it. And then… I will not be merciful."

I looked at him. At the man who had killed Thomas. Who had locked us up. Who had lied to everyone for years.

I looked at the drive in my hand.

Then I looked past him. At the top of the stairs.

Standing there was Emily. Pale. Bruised. But standing. And in her hand… she held Miller’s phone.

She had been recording. Everything.

Robert turned his head. He saw her. He saw the phone.

His face fell.

"You," he said.

"Everything you just said," Emily said, her voice shaking but clear. "Admissions. Threats. Confessions. All of it is being sent to three different email accounts. If anything happens to us… everything goes public. The police get it. The news gets it. Everyone gets it."

Robert stared at her. He looked at me. At the drive in my hand. At the phone in hers.

Slowly, he slumped against the wall.

"You won," he said quietly. "Your grandfather won. Even from the grave."

Sirens wailed in the distance. Growing closer.

Robert closed his eyes.

"Thomas sent a message before he died," Emily said. "To a friend. Telling them to call if we didn’t check in. They are here, Robert. It is over."

Robert opened his eyes. He looked at me one last time.