"He's got a good mind," Dave said awkwardly.
Nora looked pleased, then wary. "He does. He also forgets to eat lunch when he's excited, so don't let him forget that too."
Pete gave an exaggerated salute. "That I can handle."
After she left, Rusty went upstairs to the cramped room where he kept old property records. The former landlord had delivered them in three cardboard boxes when the building changed hands, insisting that he had fulfilled every obligation merely by not throwing them away. Rusty had never sorted the records because the lockers had been largely unused after the sale. He now regretted that neglect almost as much as he regretted failing to inspect the FXR more carefully.
He spent half an hour working through yellowed rental forms, notes about unpaid fees, and a hand-drawn map of the basement. Locker 42 appeared under Arthur Hayes's name, with an old phone number and a series of rental payments ending when Arthur became too ill to work. A note from the former landlord indicated that the contents had been left untouched pending contact with the family, a precaution that had saved Rusty from another problem he had not known existed. The key was not in the records, but a spare had been sealed inside an envelope marked with the locker number.
Rusty carried the envelope back downstairs. "We found a record," he told Leo. "Your father's name is on it. Your mother will need to confirm that anything inside belongs to your family, and we'll keep careful track of what we take out." He held up the envelope. "But the good news is that no one listed it as cleared."
Leo took a breath so deep that Pete looked over to make sure he was not feeling faint. "Can I come see?" the boy asked. "I know which box he used."
Rusty considered the request. The basement was dim and cluttered, and he would not allow Leo into an unsafe space simply because everyone was excited. He sent Dave and Tommy ahead to clear a path, test the lighting, and check whether the old storage area was dry enough for visitors. When they returned and reported that the route was safe, Rusty led Leo downstairs with Pete behind them and a flashlight in his hand.
The stairs creaked beneath their feet. A damp smell rose from the lower level, carrying traces of paint, cardboard, and old machine oil. Halfway down, Leo stopped, remembering the last time his father had brought him here. He had been five, small enough for Arthur to carry when he fell asleep, and they had come to collect a toolbox just as rain began striking the windows above the shop.
Arthur had held his hand all the way down the steps. "A workshop has two kinds of treasure," he had told him. "The things people come looking for, and the things they were wise enough not to throw away. Most of the time you don't know which is which until later."