I photographed the panel and waited.
Later that morning, the appropriate authorities arranged for the property to be examined as part of the investigation. When the concealed compartment was accessed, I was asked to remain nearby while it was documented.
The first thing they found was a black document case.
Inside were several envelopes, a small digital recorder, and a collection of papers.
At first, the documents appeared unrelated.
Then I saw Elena’s name.
I felt the room tilt beneath my feet.
Elena Torres.
My first wife.
My daughter’s mother.
The woman I had buried seven years earlier.
Her name appeared on a photocopy of an old bank document, followed by a date from the final months of her life.
I leaned closer.
“What is that?” I asked.
The investigator examining the papers did not answer immediately.
He was reading a second document.
Then he looked up.
“Mr. Torres, did your first wife leave any money or property to your daughter?”
