Chapter 3 - The Broken Padlock
"Mark bought this house with an inheritance from his uncle!" Emma lied, her eyes darting frantically toward the driveway as if praying her husband's car would pull up to save her.
"Mark's uncle died penniless in a state nursing home," Evelyn countered sharply, taking another step forward. "I paid for his funeral, Emma. Don't lie to me."
Evelyn pushed past her daughter, her beige trench coat brushing against the dusty shelves lined with forgotten boxes. She walked directly toward the vintage red light hovering over the steel trunk. The chest was bound with heavy iron straps and secured by an antique brass padlock—a padlock Evelyn recognized with sickening certainty.
It was the master lock from Arthur’s private study at their old estate.
"Give me the key, Emma," Evelyn demanded, turning to face her daughter with cold, unyielding authority.
"I don't have the key! Mark has it!" Emma shouted, tears finally breaking past her eyes as she clutched her arms around her chest. "Mom, just walk away! Please! You don't know what you're doing! If you open that trunk, it ruins everything for our family!"
Evelyn didn't waste another second arguing. She reached onto the tool rack beside the workbench, gripping a heavy iron crowbar with both hands. With a sharp, furious grunt, she jammed the flat edge beneath the latch of the brass lock and leveraged all her body weight against it.
The metal groaned, metal fatigue snapping forty years of rusted iron with a loud, echoey crack that reverberated through the garage.
May you like
The heavy lid of the trunk popped open by two inches, releasing a cold, damp smell of old paper, dried earth, and decaying leather into the red-lit air.
👉 Read Part 4 to see what shocking truth Evelyn pulled from inside the dark chest.
