MY BOSS CALLED ME IN AFTER DAD DIED AND SAID HE HAD A PACKAGE
My hands were shaking as I sat across the desk, the expensive pen clicking softly in his hand, waiting for him to speak. The air conditioning hummed, making the office feel unnaturally cold against my skin. Mr. Harrison cleared his throat, the sound echoing slightly. “Your father,” he began, his voice low, “left this with specific instructions for you.” He slid a thick, aged manila envelope towards me.
I reached for it, the paper feeling unexpectedly heavy and rough between my fingers. Inside, nestled among some crumpled tissue, wasn’t the expected will or company papers. It was a small, tarnished brass key and a folded note. Scrawled in Dad’s shaky hand were the words, “Don’t trust anyone. Find the truth, my child. It’s all in the box.”
My breath hitched. The buzzing fluorescent lights overhead seemed to intensify, casting harsh shadows. This made no sense. Dad had always been so open. What box? What truth? Suddenly, the loud, sharp ring of the desk phone sliced through the silence.
Mr. Harrison flinched, reaching for it, but stopped. The door swung open without a knock, revealing Sarah from accounting, her face pale and eyes wide with urgency.
She whispered, “They know you have it now.”
👇 Full story continued in the comments…Sarah’s words hung in the air, sharp and cold as the AC. “Who?” I stammered, clutching the thick envelope.
Mr. Harrison finally snatched up the phone, his face a mask of fear I’d never seen before. “He’s not… I don’t know where he is!” he barked into the receiver, then slammed it down. His eyes darted between me and the door, panic setting in. “You need to go. Now.”
I didn’t need telling twice. The key felt hot in my hand. What was happening? I shoved the envelope into my purse, adrenaline surging. Sarah blocked my path briefly, her eyes pleading. “They’re watching the building. Don’t go out the front.”
She pointed down the corridor. “Service exit, near the old boiler room. Downstairs.”
“Who are they, Sarah?” I whispered, my voice trembling.
She flinched, glancing back towards Mr. Harrison who was now fumbling with papers, avoiding our eyes. “People who don’t want the truth found. Your father… he found something. Something big.”
Before I could ask more, a heavy *bang* echoed from the main office area. “Go!” Sarah urged, pushing me gently towards the stairs.
I ran, my sensible work shoes slipping on the polished floor, the sound of my footsteps deafening in the sudden silence that had fallen over the office. Down the cold concrete stairs, past dust-sheeted equipment, following Sarah’s vague directions. The key felt heavy, a lead weight in my pocket. “It’s all in the box.”
The service exit opened into a grimy alleyway. I burst out, blinking in the harsh afternoon sun, and immediately ducked behind overflowing dumpsters. A black car was parked innocently across the street, but I felt eyes on me. I melted into the city’s anonymity, walking quickly, head down, trying to blend in.
Where was the box? Dad didn’t have a secret storage unit that I knew of. We weren’t rich enough for a safety deposit box. What did he mean? The key was tarnished brass, old-fashioned. It didn’t look like a standard lock key.
I walked for blocks, my mind racing. “Don’t trust anyone.” That included Mr. Harrison, maybe even Sarah. But she seemed genuinely scared, trying to help.
The key… it had a number faintly stamped on its head: ’31B’. Three-one-bee. Was it an address? A unit number? I thought back to Dad. What was important to him, besides work and me? His old workshop in the garage? His collection of vintage radios?
Suddenly, a memory surfaced. Dad used to talk about a lock he couldn’t pick – a specific, old type of cabinet lock he’d found at an antique market years ago. He’d kept the key, saying he’d find the lock one day. He mentioned it was a ‘Bramah’ lock, notoriously complex.
A Bramah lock. Number 31B. Could it be that cabinet? It had been tucked away in the back of his workshop, ignored for years.
I made my way home, taking a circuitous route, watching every car, every reflection in shop windows. The house felt eerily quiet when I finally slipped the key into the back door. Dad’s workshop was a mess of tools, wood shavings, and half-finished projects. I pushed aside old lumber until I saw it – a small, heavy oak cabinet, dark with age.
My hands shook again as I approached it. The cabinet had a single, circular lock, unfamiliar but matching the description of the one Dad mentioned. I inserted the brass key. It turned with a rusty *click*.
Swallowing hard, I pulled open the cabinet door. Inside, there was no treasure chest, no pile of jewels. There was a single, tightly bound stack of documents and a digital voice recorder.
I pulled them out, my heart pounding. The top document was a ledger, meticulously detailing transfers of vast sums of money. Company names I recognized – shell corporations linked to the firm Dad worked for. The voice recorder had a single file. I pressed play.
Dad’s voice, clearer than in the note, but strained. *”This is a record of illegal activities within Sterling Corp. Money laundering, shell companies, bribing officials… I’ve been gathering evidence for months. They found out I was looking, but they don’t know what I found or where I hid it. If you’re listening to this, my child, I didn’t make it. These people… they’re ruthless. The ledger, the transfers… it’s all here. Get this to the authorities. Don’t trust anyone at the company. Mr. Harrison… he was involved, unwillingly at first, I think, but too scared to get out. Sarah… she saw some things, tried to warn me discreetly. Use the evidence. Expose them. Protect yourself. I love you.”*
The recording ended. The silence in the workshop was absolute. Dad had been a whistleblower, risking everything to expose corruption. The “they” were the powerful figures at Sterling Corp. Mr. Harrison was compromised. Sarah was an ally, or at least a witness.
The package wasn’t just an inheritance; it was a torch passed. A dangerous truth in my hands. I looked at the ledger, at the recorder. Dad had trusted me to finish what he started. The shaking in my hands subsided, replaced by a cold, quiet resolve. Finding the truth was just the beginning. Now I had to make sure justice was done. I wouldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain. I copied the files, hid the originals again, and knew I had to disappear from the house, from my old life, until I could find the right people to trust – people outside of Sterling Corp, outside of this dangerous web. The fight wasn’t over; it had just begun.