Dad’s letter ended with an instruction: “Turn the board over.” When I flipped it, I noticed new scratches I hadn’t seen before—lines that didn’t match the natural wood. They formed a pattern, almost like a puzzle. After a few minutes of studying it, I pressed one of the carved squares.
The board clicked open like a hidden drawer. Inside was a sealed envelope with a bank document: Dad had left me a savings account he had quietly built over many years. It contained far more than the value of the house—enough money to secure my future, return to school, or start a business.
