One folder was different from the rest. Its label read Fire, January 1984, and beneath it Altha had written the names of hospital staff who remembered her admission. There were copies of medical bills, correspondence requesting her records, and letters sent to Charles and Martin while she was still recovering. A small blue slip contained the date and time of a contested notarization, and a hospital discharge summary placed her under treatment at that same time.
Elias studied the overlapping dates. The transfer paperwork claimed Altha had signed a statement in a downtown office on a day when doctors documented that she could not leave the hospital. He knew a document like that would still have to be examined by qualified experts, but the discrepancy was too specific to dismiss as an innocent misunderstanding. He placed the papers into a new archival sleeve and recorded where he had found them.
"Your grandfather insisted we make duplicate copies after the first lawyer quit," Altha explained. "He said the people trying to take the business were relying on everyone else getting tired of looking. He knew I could be stubborn, so he built a way for me to stay stubborn without losing everything in one fire." She looked at the trunk in the corner. "He was right more times than I ever told him."
As they moved boxes toward the truck, a metallic clang rang out from the next aisle. Elias looked toward the entrance. The facility was quiet enough that footsteps normally echoed, yet he had heard no one approach before the noise. Altha stopped with a folder held against her chest, and Elias put himself between her and the doorway.
Two men stepped into view wearing dark clothing and caps pulled low. One carried a metal bar, the other had heavy gloves and a small bag. They did not pretend to be customers looking for a unit. Their attention went immediately to the open shelves and the documents stacked beside Altha.
"Leave the boxes," the taller man said. "Walk away, and nobody needs to get hurt." Elias kept his voice even.
"This is private property. You've got the wrong unit." The man shook his head. "We know whose unit it is. We need what's inside."
The first man moved toward the shelves, and Elias blocked his path. The confrontation became sudden and confusing, a collision of bodies against metal racks, loose papers sliding onto concrete, the sharp scrape of a shelf knocked sideways. Elias used his experience to keep the struggle away from his grandmother, but he could not prevent the second man from swinging toward him. Pain flashed through his jaw, and he stumbled against a box before regaining his balance.
"Elias!" Altha called. She had backed toward the far wall as he instructed, her cane clutched in both hands. Her voice carried more anger than fear, and for one instant the attackers appeared startled that she had not screamed or fled.
One of the men tried to seize a long archival tube from the shelf. Elias caught his arm and pushed him away, sending the tube rolling safely against the wall. The other attacker stumbled over a fallen box as the storage facility's alarm began sounding from a neighboring aisle, apparently triggered by the commotion. The piercing noise broke their focus and brought a distant shout from the front office.