“What a wonderful thing to do. No, I didn’t know about it.”

“Which is how the Masons like it,” he said. “They don’t broadcast what they do. And the Miranda Foundation respects that.”

“I see.”

“A lot of people think they’re some kind of cabal out to control governments and that they have dark motives for what they do, an agenda with a world vision—and an even darker history,” he said. “Which is supposed to explain why they’re so secretive.”

“You don’t believe that?”

“The men I know who are Masons are good people. So, no, I don’t believe it.” He sat back in his chair again. “Tell me about those bottles of Madeira. What made you think they’d be here?”

I told him what Prescott had told me. “It was the first time I’d ever heard of them,” I said. “Leland’s safe-deposit box is my last hope for finding out if he left any information about where the bottles might be. According to Prescott, they would be worth a lot of money.”

“Would you be willing to let me know if you find something about that wine?”

“I would.” I reached for the envelope. “Thanks for this, Seth.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not sure you should be thanking me. Your pa didn’t ask me to keep these documents locked up for no reason. I don’t feel quite right about handing them over, though I know they’re legally yours.”

“I can handle this,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

He shook his head. “I do worry. And I feel like a damn Cassandra.”

We locked eyes. Cassandra, the Greek goddess who had been given the gift of prophecy by her lover Apollo until she went back on her promise to do as he wished. Her punishment was the curse of never being believed even though she spoke the truth.

“I promise. I’ll be fine,” I said.

He didn’t reply. But he did give me a you’ll-be-sorry look.

Twelve

Prescott Avery had warned me that the secret he was on the verge of revealing was too dangerous to share; my father, who had provided him with a key clue to its existence, had gone to great lengths to make sure no one except Prescott had known about his second safe-deposit box. Plus Leland had even persuaded Seth Hannah to not only violate bank regulations but also turn a blind eye to the fact that removing my father’s papers from his safe-deposit box and storing them in his private safe was just plain wrong.