He was grinning by the time he reached the first floor. To his right was the kitchen, those slate tiles, the Italian marble island, and the chrome appliances glowing in the morning sunlight streaming in from the double glass doors that led out to the yard. The distinct aroma of freshly ground coffee swirled in the air, but to Charles’s surprise, the kitchen was empty. His attention shifted to the left, through the open archway that led to his study. He heard a new clicking sound, but this wasn’t heels on floor. This clicking was fingernails against a keyboard.

His smile faded a bit as he made short work of the last few steps and entered the study. Most of the furniture was leather and old, in stark contrast to the kitchen and bedroom. That was because the study was his, had always been his, even when he was married. The reclining chair in the corner by the record player—still spinning, waves of violins rising and falling like summer tides—was worn from years of use, and the thick oak shelves climbing every wall were filled with books, even more worn and old, mostly antiques and first editions he’d picked up in quaint bookstores over the years. All of the titles had to do with history; specifically, American, mid-eighteenth century. And throughout the study, there was more evidence of his life’s obsession. A print above the record player of Paul Revere’s famous engraving of the Boston Massacre. A glass-enclosed, full-scale copy of the Declaration of Independence set on an oversized coffee table in the center of the room. And a replica of a Minuteman’s trusty musket standing in a polished wooden frame in the corner by his desk.

The desk itself was mahogany and vintage, reminiscent of the writing desk Thomas Jefferson used to draft the original Declaration; Charles had picked it up at an antique fair upstate, along with certification papers proving its provenance. It had been crafted in a woodworking shop on a street that was now part of the flats of Beacon Hill; a family-owned business that had traced its lineage back to the Mayflower, and had been active during the Revolutionary War, pivoting at the time to make casts for cannons and gun barrels instead of desks and armoires. Over the past two years, Charles had filled the drawers of that desk with papers—mostly original letters and documents pertaining to his research, some incredibly valuable, wrapped in protective sleeves and cases.