Leo Vance wiped down the bar, the scent of whiskey and regret thick in the air. His sister's unsolved death two years ago had derailed his medical career and left him drowning in debt. That's when the lawyer arrived with a battered suitcase and a bizarre inheritance from an uncle Leo barely remembered.
Inside, cushioned in black velvet, was a glass box—about the size of a toaster, with intricate silver filigree locking each seamless pane. A note in spidery handwriting read: "It shows the truth every family buries."
Skeptical, Leo pricked his thumb on the clasp and smeared a drop on the glass.
The pane clouded, then cleared into a scene: A man in a suit choking in a rain-soaked alley—today's date flashing below. Leo recognized him: a regular who'd left an hour ago. Shaken, Leo called in an anonymous tip. Ten minutes later, news broke—the man had been saved from an allergic reaction just in time.
The box was real. It showed deaths. And Leo, for the first time since his sister died, felt a dangerous spark of purpose.