Inside our small house in New York which looked like a studio apartment with just two rooms, a small living room and a kitchen, there was also a particular small vault which we moved with it from time to time, it had passwords which I didn't know back then except for my mother. Whenever we shifted from one house to the next, probably because my father failed to pay rent as expected — my mother made sure to tell me "Don't forget the vault. Protect it with your life" and I always wondered why.
That was until when I was fifteen and my mother rendered me fit and grown to know more of what was inside the small vault which had been with us for years. The questions I asked myself from time to time was "What's inside the vault? Was it valuable?" Could there be some precious stones that my mother was hiding from us?" and of course series of questions about the value of what's inside the vault also played a great role.
