The old man didn’t pull out a weapon or a threatening letter. Instead, he held out a heavy silver pocket watch attached to a tarnished brass skeleton key.
“She kept this for twenty-five years, Elena,” the old man said, his voice raspy with emotion. “She swore the mark would guide whoever was holding the key back to the vault.”
My jaw dropped. “Elena? Who is Elena?”
My wife’s name was Maya. At least, that was the name on our marriage certificate, our mortgage, and our children’s birth certificates.
My wife—or whoever she was—turned slowly around. Tears were streaming down her face, cutting through the sheer terror in her eyes. “You were supposed to be dead, Arthur. They said everyone in the sector was cleared out.”
“I was,” Arthur replied softly, stepping closer and dropping the watch and key into her hands. “Until three weeks ago, when your mother’s estate cleared probate in Geneva. The agency isn’t hunting you anymore, Elena. They’re trying to deliver what’s yours.”
What did the mark on her shoulder actually mean? Continue reading Part 3 below to unearth the truth.
