The weight of the key was far more symbolic than actual; it felt chilly and heavy in my hand. I flipped it over and looked at the word Donald inscribed on it. My head was filled with inquiries. What may be unlocked by this? And why did my father have such a close relationship with Nathan and his plots?
With its delicate pages whispering secrets I wasn't sure I wanted to know, the diary rested open on the desk. I rubbed my fingertips over the mysterious entry once more: It all started with the key.
I turned more pages, looking at the handwriting, which was hardly readable, until I came across something that made me pause. One sheet has a single address scrawled in the margins. It was new yet as obvious as day.
"Dad, what are you hiding? Under my breath, I whispered.
I snatched up my bag and stuffed the diary and the key inside before I lost my composure.
