The large stone pillars of the First National Bank looked towering in the bright daylight.
David was already standing on the granite steps alongside two local police officers.
Vincent parked his car and helped Clara walk up the steep entrance steps.
David: What is going on, Vincent? The police chief said you called about a major fraud case.
Vincent: My mother did not die in that clinic thirty years ago.
Vincent: She was hunted by my uncle and Arthur to steal my family's fortune.
The police officers looked at Arthur, who was being held firmly by Marcus near the car.
They walked inside the grand lobby toward the dark basement where the vault was located.
An old bank manager led them through the heavy iron doors of the safe deposit room.
Vincent held out the brass key to the manager with a steady, quiet hand.
Manager: Box number four-eight-two has not been opened in over twenty-five years, sir.
The manager slid his master key into the left lock, and Vincent inserted his brass key into the right.
With a sharp metallic click, the heavy metal door swung open smoothly.
Vincent reached his hands inside and pulled out a thick steel box covered in thin dust.
They carried the box over to a private wooden table in the corner of the room.
Vincent lifted the metal lid and saw a stack of yellowed paper documents lying inside.
On top of the papers was a leather-bound notebook with his mother's distinct hand writing on the cover.
Clara: That is her real diary, Vincent.
Vincent opened the first page and saw a photograph of his mother holding him as a baby.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he recognized the loving smile he had missed for so long.
Vincent: She wrote down every single transaction and threat made by my uncle.
David: This is a complete legal record of corporate theft and attempted murder.