Following the Trail
Rosa told herself she wasn’t prepared for whatever revelations awaited. Yet within minutes she had put on her coat and called for transportation to the address Harold had provided.
The location turned out to be on the city’s outskirts, where a long row of metal garage doors stood largely unchanged since the 1970s. The area felt forgotten by time, quiet and isolated.
She located door 122, inserted the brass key, and lifted the rolling door upward. The smell of old paper and cedar rushed out, evidence of decades spent sealed away from fresh air and light.
In the center of the concrete floor sat a large wooden chest covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. Clearly no one had disturbed this space in many years.
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