“You said those records were destroyed.”
The room went still.
Julian stared at his mother. “What records?”
Beatrice realized too late what she had said.
Adrian looked toward the opening in the floor.
“Those records.”
He descended first.
I followed.
Each stone step carried me farther from the kitchen and deeper into a history that had been kept from me. Small lights flickered on automatically along the walls, revealing a narrow underground room lined with metal cabinets.
At the center stood an oak table.
On it were ledgers, photographs, cassette tapes, sealed envelopes, and several old computer drives.
The far wall held a faded architectural drawing of a manufacturing plant.
Mercer Precision Systems.
Julian’s grandfather’s company.
The company from which Mercer Aeronautics had eventually grown.
I touched the edge of the table.
