Chapter 11 - The Safety Deposit Box
The morning sun washed over the newly restored white cottage on Wellington Street, casting a warm golden glow across the polished oak floors. Samuel sat at the dining table, reviewing architectural blueprints for the community center he was funding, when his phone buzzed.
It was the regional director of the Oakwood National Bank.
"Mr. Andrews," the bank manager’s voice came through the speaker, sounding cautious and tense. "We were clearing out some old, un-renewed basement safety deposit boxes from the 1990s slated for auction. One of them was registered under the name Maria Andrews."
Samuel froze. The pencil in his hand snapped in half.
"My mother's box?" Samuel asked, his voice dropping instantly. "I thought it was closed down after she passed."
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"So did we, sir. But it appears it was locked under a dual-key protocol that required both her signature and a corporate executive override. We opened it this morning. There is an envelope inside addressed directly to you."
Twenty minutes later, Samuel stood in the sterile, quiet vault room of the bank, holding a thick, yellowed manila envelope marked with his mother’s familiar, elegant handwriting.
