My dad told us he was a mid-level manager at a parts distributor

windows. There’s a keypad next to the door. I punch in the numbers 1127 out of desperation. It clicks open.

Inside, it smells like oil and dust. But it’s not abandoned. There are rows of black crates, each stenciled with symbols I don’t understand. On the far wall, a steel cabinet with a keyhole. I try the silver key.

Click.

The cabinet creaks open. Inside continue reading …