Bear walked over to the box and crouched down in the grass. He ran his hand over the cold metal. Jax never built anything just for show. If this chest was locked, it was because it held something Jax didn't want the world to see.
"You couldn't get it open?" Bear asked, looking up at Carl.
"It's broken, you idiot," Carl snapped, stepping closer, though he kept a safe distance from Dex. "It's my property now, just like everything else. You don't have the right to touch it."
Bear ignored him. He looked at the heavy mechanical dial. Jax was a sentimental man beneath his tough exterior. The Iron Hounds were founded in 1998. Bear reached out with a thick thumb and spun the dials. One. Nine. Nine. Eight.
He gripped the heavy iron latch and pulled.
With a loud, metallic clack, the lock disengaged, and the heavy lid swung open.
Carl’s breath caught in his throat. He took a sudden step forward, his eyes going wide. "Wait, what the hell is in there?"
Bear looked inside the chest. It wasn't filled with tools. It was filled with carefully preserved memories. There were stacks of photographs of Jax holding a baby Mia. There were Jax's original MC patches, neatly folded.
But sitting on top of the patches was a thick, sealed manila envelope, wrapped in clear plastic to protect it from moisture. Written across the front of the envelope in Jax’s unmistakable, blocky handwriting were the words:
IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH. FOR BEAR ONLY.
Bear picked up the envelope. The paper was heavy, packed thick with documents.
"Give that to me," Carl demanded, his voice suddenly frantic. "That’s my property! My wife left me this house! Give it to me!"
Carl lunged forward, trying to snatch the envelope from Bear’s hands.