“None, zero, nada,” Mark answered.
A second later they both saw a rail-thin woman walking toward them. She wore a gray suit and had her hair up in a bun. Her glasses were black with perfectly round lenses. Mark knew immediately that this must be Ms. Jane Jansen. She looked exactly like her voice sounded. She was old, too. Mark wondered if she had been working here since the bank opened.
The woman walked up to the receptionist and asked her a question that Mark couldn’t hear. The receptionist pointed to Mark and Courtney. Ms. Jansen looked at them and frowned.
“I guess we’re not what she was expecting,” Courtney whispered.
Ms. Jansen walked over to them quickly. She had perfect posture and a stiff neck that didn’t turn. Whenever she looked in a different direction, she moved her whole body.
“Mr. Dimond? Ms. Chetwynde?” she asked with a snippy tone.
“That’s us,” answered Mark.
“Do you have some form of identification?” she added suspiciously. Courtney and Mark gave the woman their student ID cards. Jansen looked at them over her glasses and then frowned again.
“You two are quite young,” she said.
“You needed our ID’s to figure that out?” Courtney asked.
Mark winced. Courtney was being a wise-ass, again.
Ms. Jansen shot Courtney a sour look and handed them back their ID’s. “Is this the way young people dress today to attend a meeting?” she asked, sounding all superior.
Mark and Courtney looked at each other. They were both wearing shorts, T-shirts, and hiking boots. What was wrong with that?
“We’re fifteen, ma’am, what did you expect?” said Courtney. “We don’t have snappy outfits like you’re wearing.”
Jansen knew this was a cut, but let it go.
“Please follow me,” she said, then turned and walked toward the back of the bank.
Courtney rolled her eyes at Mark. Mark shrugged and the two of them followed the stiff, skinny little woman. A minute later they were sitting across from her at a large oak desk.
“We have been holding an envelope for the two of you,” she explained. “We assume it must be some sort of inheritance from a relative of yours. Are either of you related to Mr. Robert Pendragon?”
That was a tough one to answer. Mark was about to say that they were just friends, but Courtney jumped in first saying, “Yeah, he’s a distant relative.”
Jansen continued, “Well, it doesn’t matter actually. The instructions are quite clear.”
She then handed the envelope to Mark. It was an old, yellowed letter that had two names written on it: “Mark Dimond” and “Courtney Chetwynde.” It was Bobby’s handwriting. Both Mark and Courtney had to force themselves to keep from smiling.
Jansen continued, “We were instructed to deliver this envelope to you on this date. We were also instructed to have you open it right away.”
Mark shrugged and opened the letter. He pulled out a sheet of paper that was folded in half. It was old and yellow too, like the envelope. There was a header engraved on top that read: “National Bank of Stony Brook” in fancy lettering. Below it were the words: “Safety Deposit Box #15-224.”
There was one other thing in the envelope: a small key.
Mark and Courtney had no idea what to make of this, so they showed it to Ms. Jansen. She looked at the note and the key, then said quickly, “Follow me, please.”
She got up and walked off again. They followed her.
“This is freaky,” whispered Courtney.
This time Ms. Jansen led them into a place Mark had always wanted to go — the huge bank vault. Since the bank was open for business, so was the vault. There was a giant, round door that looked like something you’d see in Fort Knox. When this baby closed, there was nobody getting in. Or out, for that matter.
Mark wondered if inside they would see big bags of money with dollar signs on them. Or stacks of clean crisp bills. Or maybe even bars of gold.
But there was none of that. Ms. Jansen led them to a room full of brass lockers. Some were as big as the lockers at school, others were no larger than a few inches wide. These were the safe deposit boxes of the National Bank of Stony Brook.
Ms. Jansen walked along one row of doors, scanning the numbers inscribed on each. She finally arrived at the one marked: 15-224. She stopped and handed the key to Mark.
“You both are now the owners of the contents of safe deposit box number 15-224. I will leave you alone to inspect the contents. When you are finished, please relock the box and return the key to me. Any questions?” ”I’m kind of confused,” said Mark. “Who set this up?”
“I told you, a Mr. Robert Pendragon.”
Courtney asked, “He came in here? Did you see him?”
The look on Ms. Jansen’s face got even more pinched, if that were possible.
“I know you consider me to be a fossil, Ms. Chetwynde, but I assure you, this account was opened long before I was employed here at National Bank.”
“So when was that?” asked Mark.
“I’ll have to double check the exact date, but I believe it was sometime in May.”
“He was here three months ago?” shouted Courtney in surprise.
“Please, Ms. Chetwynde,” said Jansen testily. “I’m not a fool, so do not try to play me for one. This account was opened in May of 1937.”
Mark and Courtney went into stunned brain lock.
“Do you have any more questions?”
Both Mark and Courtney could only shake their heads.
“Then I’ll be at my desk.”
Jansen gave them a last annoyed look and hurried off.
Mark and Courtney couldn’t move. They both tried desperately to get their minds around the incredible information.
“Is it possible?” Courtney finally asked.
“There’s one way to find out,” answered Mark.
He inserted the key into the deposit box marked 15-224. This was one of the larger boxes compared to the others. It looked to be about two feet high. The door hinged outward, revealing a handle attached to a steel box. While Mark held the door open, Courtney pulled on the handle. The steel box slid out easily. It was roughly the size of two shoe boxes. ”Take it over there,” said Mark.
Built into one wall was a row of four desks set up with partitions between them, kind of like the study carrels in the library at school. These wooden desks looked ancient, just like everything else at this bank. Courtney put the box down on one of the old desks and they each pulled up a chair. Mark was happy nobody else was here.
The two looked at the steel box. The lid was still closed so they couldn’t see what was inside. Mark’s heart was racing. He knew Courtney’s was too.
“I can’t breathe,” Mark said finally.
“Then open it. This is killing me!”
Mark reached for the lid, hesitated a moment, then lifted it up.
They saw that the deep box was mostly empty. But lying on the bottom was a stack of four books, each bound in dark red leather. They were about the size of a piece of computer paper: 8x10 inches. Each looked to be about a half-inch thick. The weird thing was that they didn’t have any titles. There were no markings on the covers whatsoever.
There was something else in the box too. Sandwiched next to the stack of books was an envelope. Mark’s hands were shaking as he pulled it out. It was a business-size envelope with a printed return address in the upper left corner. It was the name and address of the bank. Whoever wrote this letter wrote it here in the bank. There was something else on the envelope. In Bobby’s handwriting were the words: “Mark and Courtney.”
“That’s us,” said Courtney with a weak smile.
Mark nervously opened the envelope and pulled out the single page inside. He unfolded it to reveal a letter
