123956 -

Elias had been walking these Greyhound terminal halls for three days, the crumpled slip of paper in his pocket feeling heavier with every hour. He hadn't known what his brother meant when he whispered those six digits in the hospital—only that they were a "life insurance policy" the bank didn't know about.

He opened the lockbox. Inside lay a single, ancient-looking compass and a handwritten note: “The inheritance isn't what I kept, Elias. It's what I found and left behind. Start at the first coordinate. Don’t take the highway.” 123956

Sitting on a plastic bench under the hum of flickering fluorescent lights, Elias unzipped the satchel. It wasn't filled with cash or gold. Instead, dozens of hand-drawn maps spilled out, each marked with precise GPS coordinates and dates stretching back twenty years. Elias had been walking these Greyhound terminal halls

He slung the satchel over his shoulder, tossed the locker key into a nearby trash can, and walked toward the ticket counter. Inside lay a single, ancient-looking compass and a