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was now my home and not my parents’. It had been willed to me, and it was already paid in full. I had a home, but I didn’t know what that would mean for my future.
    A summer breeze wafted in the air, stirring the large ancient pine trees and causing the scent of fresh-cut grass to drift in the air and tease my nose. Colt had come over earlier in the morning and helped me mow. It was a daunting task, considering the size of the yard. The manicured lawn was small, but the meadows surrounding the house hadn’t been done yet. It took a couple of hours to complete the job. Luckily, I only had to do them twice a year, once in the spring, which I had missed, and once in the fall.
    My mind drifted back to my circumstances. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? I was fortunate to have my parents set me up so well for my future. I had no financial worries. It was as if they knew someday I would have to stand on my own. We had talked in general about their deaths, and I knew they had a will in case something happened. I just never thought it would happen like this—an auto accident when they were so young instead of having our whole lives until they grew old.
    The house had been paid off, and after the accident, I had received insurance money for the truck. I also received a substantial payout from their life insurance policies and when I went to the bank, I found out they had opened several accounts in my name. They all showed large dollar amounts in their balances.
    I watched from a distance as the mail truck deposited the envelopes in the box. My damp hair was cooling as it fluttered in the air, and I began the long stroll down the gravel drive. The patches of sunshine breaking through the trees kissed my skin as I passed under their canopy.
    After closing the mailbox and flipping through the letters, I glanced up towards the house, into the dark forest. Instantly, the hairs on my neck stood on end.
    I inhaled a shaky breath.
    Something unmistakable large lingered in the shadows beyond the house.
    “ It’s nothing,” I mumbled, trying to convince myself. I stared for a few moments more. I was just seeing things. My mind played tricks on me before. As a child, I had told my dad about the shadows, but he dismissed them as figments of my imagination. It was just my imagination; that’s all . I walked back to the house, and sighed in relief when the door shut behind me.
    I wasn’t paying much attention as I tossed the mail onto the desk, but then an odd envelope caught my eye. It was addressed to Cheyenne Wilson, and seemed to be from a bank, but not one I recognized. I picked it up. Hesitating for a moment, I ran my finger under the back flap. Another account? How many were set up for me? And why? It was strange. Why would my parents have so many? Were they trying not to draw attention to themselves? Hiding something? I pulled the paper from the envelope. It wasn’t a checking account statement. It was a billing statement for a safety deposit box. The renewal payment was due in a couple of weeks and would be pulled from the account listed below, which appeared to be yet another savings account.
    I didn’t remember my parents saying anything about a safety deposit box, especially at a small bank in Helena, Montana. I didn’t recall ever seeing a key, but I rummaged through the desk drawers looking for one anyway. Was there something I had somehow missed? What was in the safe deposit box? Why was it in my name? Pulling out the third drawer of the desk and running my hand through the papers, I searched for some sort of clue. I felt something strange on the bottom. There was a slight bump.
    I pulled the drawer completely out, dumping the contents on the floor. My fingers ran across it again; yes, it was there, and it wasn’t my imagination. It seemed to be a small but deliberate imperfection of the drawer lining. I looked for a corner to pull away; I held it up to the light while gently finding the top and bottom