Chapter 7: The Lockbox

The Riverside Inn sat on a tree-lined street that could have been pulled from a postcard advertising small-town America. Victorian-era architecture with wraparound porches and gingerbread trim, the kind of place that catered to visiting parents and academics on sabbatical. Ethan sat in the parking lot for ten minutes, staring at the building while his phone buzzed with increasingly urgent messages from Maya.

Are you sure about this? We could call the police. Have them do a wellness check. Just because the photos are real doesn't mean he's safe.

But Ethan wasn't ready to face Leo yet. The weight of recovered memories—or rather, the evidence of memories he still couldn't fully access—sat heavy in his chest. The photographs had proven Leo's claims, but they'd also raised new questions. Why had he been at Sunrise in the first place? What had led to the fire? And most importantly, what had been so traumatic that his mind had locked away not just the incident itself, but three entire years of his life?

"I need more answers first," he texted Maya. "The postcard led us to the bank. Maybe there are other clues."

He pulled out the original postcard, the one that had started this journey to Ann Arbor. The front showed a vintage view of downtown, circa 1960s based on the cars and clothing visible in the street scene. But studying it now, with fresh eyes informed by the photographs they'd found, Ethan noticed details he'd missed before.

In the background of the postcard image, barely visible behind the main street scene, was a building he now recognized. The old downtown bank, but as it had appeared decades earlier. And in the upper right corner, so faint it could have been a printing error, was a small marking that looked almost like a street address.

"1247 Riverside Drive," Ethan read aloud, squinting at the tiny print.

A quick search on his phone showed that 1247 Riverside Drive was less than six blocks from the inn. The building appeared to be another bank—Founders National, according to the satellite view. But something about the architecture looked familiar, triggering the same sense of recognition he'd felt at the First National building.

Maya's response came immediately: Don't go alone. Wait for me.

But Ethan was already starting the car. The urgency that had been building since Chicago was reaching a crescendo. Every piece of evidence they uncovered, every recovered fragment of his forgotten past, felt like a timer counting down toward some inevitable confrontation. Leo was waiting at the inn, but Ethan sensed there was one more revelation to uncover first.

Founders National occupied a corner lot in what had once been Ann Arbor's financial district. The building was older than First National, its limestone facade weathered but dignified. Unlike the other bank, this one was clearly no longer operational—the windows were papered over, and a "For Lease" sign hung from the main entrance.

Ethan walked around the perimeter, looking for any detail that might connect to the postcard or the key that had opened the safe deposit box. On the building's south side, he found what he was looking for: a service entrance with a brass lock that looked identical to the one they'd encountered at First National.

The key turned easily.

Inside, the abandoned bank was a study in institutional decay. Dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight streaming through gaps in the window coverings. The main floor was empty except for the skeleton of what had once been the teller counter and a few pieces of forgotten furniture draped in white sheets.

But it was the basement that drew Ethan's attention. A narrow staircase led down to what appeared to have been the original vault area, back when banks kept their most valuable items in basement safes rather than above-ground facilities.

The basement smelled of old paper and neglect, but something else too—a faint scent that made Ethan's pulse quicken. Smoke. Not fresh, but old and embedded in the very walls, as if a fire had occurred here years ago and never been completely cleaned away.

The vault itself was a massive circular door, the kind seen in movies about bank robberies from the 1920s. But it stood open, revealing not rows of safe deposit boxes but something far more personal: a makeshift room that had clearly been someone's secret hideaway.

The space contained remnants of what looked like a teenage sanctuary. Sleeping bags, empty food containers, battery-powered lanterns, and stacks of books and magazines. On one wall, someone had created a timeline using newspaper clippings, photographs, and handwritten notes connected by colored string like a detective's conspiracy board.

Ethan approached the wall slowly, his breath catching as he recognized faces in the photographs. Himself and Leo, but also adults he didn't recognize—men in suits, women in professional attire, all connected by red string to newspaper articles about the Sunrise Youth Center and its aftermath.

At the center of the timeline was a photograph that made his knees weak. It showed the Sunrise building during the fire, flames visible through upper-story windows while emergency vehicles clustered in the foreground. But this wasn't a newspaper photo—it was taken from inside another building, looking out at the burning facility. The angle and perspective suggested it had been shot from directly across the street.

Handwritten notes surrounded the photo: "Who was in the building across from Sunrise? Why was someone positioned to photograph the fire? Who wanted documentation of what happened?"

More photos showed the aftermath—investigators combing through the ruins, official vehicles, men in suits who appeared to be having heated conversations away from the main scene. And in several of these images, barely visible in the background, was a figure Ethan now recognized as his own father.

His hands shaking, Ethan pulled out his phone and began photographing everything. The timeline revealed a story far more complex than he'd imagined. Sunrise hadn't been just any youth facility—according to the clippings, it had been under investigation for experimental treatment programs, allegations of abuse, and connections to pharmaceutical companies testing new psychiatric medications on vulnerable minors.

A folder marked "Medical Records - CONFIDENTIAL" contained photocopied documents that made Ethan's vision blur with rage. Treatment protocols for something called "Project Renewal"—a program designed to help traumatized youth "start fresh" through controlled memory suppression and behavioral modification. His name was on several of the documents, along with Leo's and dozens of others.

The fire, according to Leo's carefully documented research, hadn't been an accident. It had been arson, committed by someone who wanted to destroy evidence of what had been happening at Sunrise. Two boys had been caught in the building during what appeared to have been an attempt to steal medical records—records that would have exposed the full scope of the experimental program.

But only one of those boys had been given the full memory treatment afterward. Only one had been offered a complete fresh start, a new life free from the trauma of what he'd witnessed and experienced.

Ethan sank into a chair someone had dragged into this underground sanctuary, surrounded by evidence of Leo's obsessive investigation into their shared past. For years, while Ethan had been building his carefully ordered life in Chicago, Leo had been here, piecing together the truth of what had been done to them.

The final item in the folder was a letter addressed to Ethan, dated just three weeks ago:

If you're reading this, it means you followed the clues I left. It means you're starting to remember, or at least starting to want to remember.

I know this is a lot to process. I know you're probably angry with me for the way I've handled this. But I need you to understand—we're running out of time.

Some of the people involved in Project Renewal are still alive, still in positions of power. They've spent fifteen years believing their secret was safe, that the two witnesses to what really happened at Sunrise were neutralized—one through memory suppression, the other through institutionalization and discrediting.

But they're wrong. I remember everything, and now you're starting to remember too. That makes us dangerous.

I tried to warn you subtly, tried to help you remember gradually. But they found out I was in Chicago. They know I'm trying to contact you. We don't have time for gentle recovery anymore.

The room at the inn is a trap, Ethan. I'm not there. I haven't been there. But they are, waiting for both of us to show up so they can finish what they started fifteen years ago.

If you want to find me, if you want to know the whole truth, come to where it all began. The ruins of Sunrise. Tonight at midnight. Come alone, and come ready to remember everything.

Your brother, Leo

Ethan's phone was already ringing as he finished reading. Maya's name flashed on the screen, but when he answered, her voice was tight with panic.

"Ethan, where are you? I went to the inn. Room 237 is registered to someone named Marcus Webb, and when I asked the desk clerk about Leo, they said no one by that name has checked in. But there are two men in suits asking questions about you, showing your photo around."

"Get out of there," Ethan said, grabbing the folder and heading for the stairs. "Now. Don't go back to the car, don't go anywhere they might expect you to be."

"What did you find?"

"Evidence that this is bigger than we thought. Much bigger. And that Leo's been trying to protect me, not hurt me."

As he emerged from the abandoned bank, Ethan felt the weight of fifteen years of lies pressing down on him. His parents, the doctors, everyone who had helped him "recover" from his trauma—they had all been part of a conspiracy to hide the truth about what had happened at Sunrise.

But Leo had never stopped fighting. Had never stopped trying to expose the truth, to protect other children from what they'd endured. And now, because of Ethan's recovered memories, they were both in danger from people who would kill to keep their secrets buried.

The ruins of Sunrise Youth Center waited in the darkness beyond Ann Arbor, holding the final pieces of a puzzle that had cost two thirteen-year-old boys their innocence and nearly cost them their lives.

Tonight, fifteen years after the fire that had changed everything, the survivors would return to where their nightmare had begun. And this time, Ethan was determined to remember everything—no matter what the cost.