By sunrise, two officers and a city inspector were in Walter’s yard, boots leaving clean prints in the dew. They brushed off the lid and checked for gas. Safe. The inspector dropped a ladder into a brick-lined shaft, no wider than a closet. He pointed his flashlight and frowned. The beam caught shelves.

Brick shelves. Someone had stacked them long ago and sealed the space tight. There were jars, metal tins, a small wooden crate with rope handles. The officer called for evidence bags. The inspector said this was not on any utility map. The neighbor’s dog stood up and wagged once, like he had been waiting for those words.

Walter and the neighbor watched as the officers and inspector lifted items out, one by one. A bundle of envelopes tied with string. A rusted license plate. A faded city map with neat pencil marks along their block. The officer’s radio crackled. He asked them to step back a little more. What they found next would make the whole street stare.