Door thirty-four creaked open reluctantly. The unit smelled faintly of dust and motor oil. Cardboard boxes lined the walls, stacked neatly as though Daniel had visited often. Maggie stepped inside, her breath shallow. This seemed deliberate and curated. He had built this hidden room carefully.
She knelt by the nearest box, lifting the lid with trembling fingers. Inside were ledgers filled with numbers, neat columns in Daniel’s handwriting. Each page carried dates spanning decades, every calculation precise. Maggie frowned, running her fingers along the ink. He had kept accounts she had never known existed.