"I've waited long enough."

I knew better than to argue.

Michael surprised us.

"I'm coming."

Lena looked at him.

"Captain Brennan, you just completed a flight."

"My duty day is over."

"This may become a formal matter."

"Then formalize it."

Grandma studied him.

"Why do you want to come?"

Michael answered without hesitation.

"Because my father should have finished this."

"And you think that makes it yours?"

"No."

He looked at her steadily.

"I think it makes it my responsibility to help if you'll let me."

Grandma considered him for several seconds.

"Fine."

We rented two cars.

Lena and Grant followed us north.

During the drive, Grandma called my mother and told her only that our arrival at the reunion would be delayed.

She did not mention the letter.

She did not mention the film.

She did not mention the possibility that a twenty-seven-year-old mystery was about to reopen.

Just after sunset, we reached downtown Los Angeles.

Union Station glowed gold against the darkening sky.

Grandma stood outside the entrance and stared at the building.

"Last time I was here with Thomas, we had twelve dollars between us."

Michael smiled faintly.

"My father said Thomas always acted rich when he was broke."

"He did."

Grandma's expression softened.

Then she walked inside.

The lockers from their youth were gone, of course.

But Grandma had not come for a locker.

She led us through the station and out a side entrance.

Across the street stood an old bank building, now operating under a different name.

Grandma stopped.

"There."

Lena looked at her.

"You're sure?"

"Thomas opened our first joint safe-deposit box in that building."

The bank was closed.

A security guard met us at the door after Lena showed her identification.

A manager arrived forty minutes later.

He listened to our explanation with visible disbelief.

Then he disappeared into the records room.

When he returned, he carried an old ledger.

"We have a legacy box registered under Thomas and Evelyn Walsh."

Grandma gripped my arm.

"What number?"

The manager looked down.

"Box 6113."

Nobody spoke.

The manager continued.

"But there is a problem."

Grandma's face tightened.

"What problem?"

"Someone accessed that box three months ago."

Before we left the airport, Grandma called my mother again.

This time she answered.

I heard Mom's voice through the phone, sharp with worry.

"What do you mean Dad didn't walk away?"

Grandma closed her eyes.

"I mean we found records."

"What records?"

"I don't know enough yet."

"Mom, you can't send me a message like that and then say you don't know enough."

Grandma looked at me helplessly.

That was rare.

I took the phone.

"Mom, we're with investigators."

There was a long silence.

"Investigators?"

"We're safe."

"Daniel, what happened on that plane?"

I looked at Grandma.

She nodded.

So I told my mother about 34A.

The pilot.

Patrick Brennan's letter.

The hidden film strip.

When I finished, Mom was crying quietly.

"Grandma knew about the seat?"

"Only that Grandpa told her to sit there someday."

"She never told me."

Grandma took the phone back.

"I thought I was protecting you."

Mom laughed through tears.

"Apparently everyone in this family thought silence was protection."

Grandma flinched.

"You're right."

That simple admission ended the anger before it could grow.

Mom asked us to call from Los Angeles.

Grandma promised.

Then she put the phone away and looked at Michael.

"No more protecting people with silence."

Michael nodded.

"Agreed."

Chapter 8 - SOMEONE GOT THERE FIRST

Lena stepped forward.

"Who accessed it?"

The bank manager looked uncomfortable.

"I can't disclose customer information without authorization."

Lena raised an eyebrow.

"The customer is standing in front of you."

The manager looked at Grandma.

"Mrs. Walsh, may I see identification?"

Grandma handed him her driver's license.

He compared it to the ledger, then to a digital record on his tablet.

His expression became more concerned.

"The access was logged under your name."

Grandma stared at him.

"I haven't been in California in twenty-seven years."

"I understand."

"Then how did someone use my name?"

"That's what we need to determine."

Lena asked, "Do you have camera footage?"

"Three months old? Possibly."

"Preserve it now."

The manager nodded and made a phone call.

Michael stood several steps away, looking sick.

Grandma noticed.

"What is it?"

"Three months ago," he said.

"My father's storage unit was broken into."

Lena turned toward him.

"You didn't mention that."

"Because nothing was taken."

"How do you know?"

"The lock was damaged, but the boxes looked untouched."

Grandma's voice sharpened.

"Looked untouched?"

Michael rubbed his forehead.

"I checked the important files."

"Including Patrick's letter?"

"Yes."

"And it was still there?"

"Yes."

Lena crossed her arms.

"Did anyone else know the letter existed?"

Michael hesitated.

That was enough.

"Who?" Lena asked.

"My sister."

"Anyone else?"

"My father's old attorney."

"Name?"

"Robert Haines."

Grandma's face changed.

"Haines?"

Michael looked at her.

"You know him?"

"I knew a Walter Haines."

Lena immediately asked, "Who was he?"