Mr. Brennan crossed the lobby slowly, his cane tapping against the marble, and picked the small brass key off the desk. His hand trembled. “Dorothy swore she had lost this,” he whispered. “She hid something behind that boiler in 1989, and she never told me where.” Mr. Pruitt laughed nervously and said the old man was confused. Mr. Brennan did not even look at him. He turned to me with tears on his cheeks.

“Edith, would you take me downstairs?” he asked. “Everyone else, stay exactly where you are.” Pruitt’s face drained of color. Eleven employees watched as I took the old man’s arm and led him toward the freight elevator. The doors slid shut behind us, and Mr. Brennan whispered, “Whatever is behind that door, Edith, it is why she trusted you.”