Ever since I was in primary school, I used to love visiting my uncle during the holidays. He was a bachelor with a huge house. I never really knew what he did for a living, every time I asked, he said, and I quote “Just a collector”. I had no idea what that meant.
My father and uncle had a fallout about 2 years back after which we didn’t visit him until we heard the devastating news of his demise. My dad was heartbroken and guilt-ridden. They had an age difference of 4 years; he was too young to die. They said it was a heart attack, and he had passed peacefully in his sleep.
We went to his funeral held in his house. I think I’m old enough to now differentiate and call it a mansion. It was a quiet funeral with about 10 people other than the three of us. My dad was desperately trying to hold back his tears, my mom held on to him. I was numb.

My parents retire for the night, but I didn’t feel sleepy.

My heart was broken, I missed my uncle a lot. Even the 2 years my dad and his brother weren’t speaking, I kept in touch with him through letters and emails. My uncle always preferred handwritten letters and I to mails. But now I feel happy that he did. A part of him was in those letters.
I walk downstairs to his office room. It was a beautiful room with a ceiling higher than usual, wooden panelled flooring, a big oak table in the centre. Random maps, antiques, weirdly shaped statues lying about. The back of his chair faced a wall covered with tall bookshelves.

I love reading. He was the reason I started reading. He always believed that behind every fictional story there was always something real, which made it more enjoyable.
Five to six books lay piled on his table, probably his recent read. I walk to his table to observe all the clatter on it. I was surprised to see a laptop under all the piles of paper. For someone who wrote letters to his nephew why did this man have a laptop?

I open it to his sign-in page asking for a password. I click the hint which read ‘your name’. confused I type my uncle’s name, HARDEN.

Password incorrect.

I tried our family name FABEL, still incorrect.

I had one more chance, well it did say your name, so I type my name, DEREK.
It opens to a black background desktop. There was nothing, no folders, no recycle bin, just a black background. Well, that was useless.

I start opening the books on his table. There was a book full of maps I didn’t recognise, another really old-looking book, even the pages were fragile, and the title was faded, well what’s the use of a book you can’t read. As I was keeping it back a note fell out. It was a neatly folder paper, this paper looked much more recent and newer compared to the book itself. I open it curiously to find random alphabets handwritten by him, it didn’t make any sense.

‘Ghdu Ghuhn, brx duh d vpduw euljkw fklog dqg L’p surgg ri wkh pdq brx duh jurzlqj xs wr eh. Mxvw olnh brxu idwkhu. Rqh wklqj derxw brx wkdw L dgpluh lv brxu fxulrvlwb dqg L nqrz brx zloo frph orrnlqj iru slhfhv ri ph lq pb rffich. L kdyh d yhub gdqjhurxv olih zklfk brxu gdg qhyhu olnhg dqg wkdw’v zkb zh kdyh d idoo rxw. L’p vruub wr klp dqg vruub wr brx. L fkrvh wklv hqg iru ph ehfdxvh zlwk ph L wdnh d orw ri vhfuhwv wr wkh judyh dqg wkh wlph kdyh frph zkhuh L kdyh wr fkrvh. L wdnh pb olih ru vrphrergb hovh wdnhv wkh olih ri vrphrqh L oryh. Wdnh fduh ri brxu gdg iru ph.’

Was my uncle, okay? He was, he always knew exactly what he was doing so I sit on his chair, pull out a paper and a pencil.
I read it out loud to see if anything makes sense but no, all I was saying was pure gibberish. Then I looked at it closely. The first letter of the first two words were the same, so was the second one. It must be a cipher. I had read so many detective mystery novels thanks to my uncle. I replaced the letters with numbers, tried reversing and reading them, even the Acrostic code but nothing made sense.
Then it hit me, the shift cipher. I try it on the first word, I don’t remember if I have to move 3 letters forward or backward, so I try both. Going forward made no sense, GHDU became JKGN but when I went 3 letters backward, things took a turn. The first word is DEAR. I gasp.

I tear up as I read the words that I have scribbled out from the note.

‘Dear Derek, you are a smart bright child and I’m proud of the man you are growing up to be. Just like your father. One thing about you that I admire is your curiosity and I know you will come looking for pieces of me in my office. I have a very dangerous life which your dad never liked which led to the dreaded argument. I’m sorry to him and sorry to you. I chose this end for me because with me I take a lot of secrets to the grave. I take my life or somebody else takes the life of someone I love. Take care of your dad for me.’

I stare at the piece of paper. I wipe my tears. So, he killed himself to protect us but from whom? And for what? What kind of secret life did he lead?
Too many questions.

I start going through his drawers and his table, I don’t understand many of the things I find and keep searching. I shake the books on his table, just in case he had left anything else for me. Nothing. I turn to the huge bookshelves, lord I can’t go through all of them. I slump in his chair and kick a half-open draw; it doesn’t close.

That’s strange, I bend and put my hand under it. I feel something.

I pull out to find a small blue velvety box. It pops open and I find a small key. I take it and go around his room to see if it goes into anything but no. It is too small; man, he was testing my patience.
I open the glass cupboard on the other side of the room, and I see something suspicious. A box made out of mirrors, I pick it up and try the key and it works, excited I open to find absolutely nothing. I groan in frustration.
Ok, so he hid the key, near him in a pretty obvious place if I must say then the key doesn’t go into anything except this box which is too far from him. This was a decoy! Whatever it is he wanted hidden he would have wanted it close to him but not too obvious.

I walk back to his table, sit on his chair, and look at his table, scattered maps, books, a globe, few other contraptions I wasn’t familiar with.

Wait a minute the globe, I walk to the other side of the globe and spin it. I look closely and find a small keyhole at the equator right next to Africa. I put it in and the piece right above it flips, it has a fingerprint symbol, wondering whether mine will work I keep my thumb, and the globe opens in half.
Inside is a thick black book, a diary of sorts.
The first entry is about my uncle in school playing with my brother and the struggles they faced after their father’s sudden demise making my uncle the sole bread earner at the age of just 17 years.

I sit on the floor and read. There was a gap of 5 years until he suddenly started writing again where he wrote his job was too dangerous and that anything could happen to him, so he wanted to document as much as he could.

My uncle was recruited by a secret agency which he doesn’t mention but this agency is in charge of keeping antiques and artefacts safe from thieves, smugglers, and dark net dealers.
They are in charge of discovering these artefacts even before it is found and assess the articles, it's age and worth.

He worked for an agency which keeps a stock of all the hidden artefacts of the world, and he helped find them. This was so cool and exciting.

He had travelled to the depths of the Egyptian tombs to the mysterious temples in the deep forests of India. the items he found ranged from ancient weaponry to precious stones. In between he wrote about Dad getting married and about me. Tears well up once again but I hold them back and keep reading.

No wonder his job was risky, he would have had a lot of enemies and of course, he became an international threat as he knew the exact location of these artefacts. That explains why he was so rich. I wondered how much of it did dad know.

I rush to his last entry. It seems to be a letter than an entry. It was addressed to Dad.

Dear Brandon,

I’m sorry I had to leave you, but you are in good hands, Marie is a pure-hearted woman with so much love for you, and your son, Derek, is made for bigger things, I am glad I got to meet him and spend so much time with him.
I understand your pain and worry for me but don’t worry whatever I did was the right thing to do. Remember, this had nothing to do with you and I hold no resentment or anger towards you.
I miss you, dear brother.

Yours truly,
Harden.

P.S. I always have your back just follow the breadcrumbs.

Breadcrumbs? My uncle doesn’t even like bread. What crumbs? I was too exhausted for more puzzles, so I go up to my parents’ room. I tip-toe to my Dad’s side.
‘Dad? Dad! Wake up! DAD!’ I shout whisper.
He wakes up startled ‘What? What happened? What’s the time? Are you ok?’

‘Yes, I am, come with me,’ I hold his hand and pull him. He comes along with me half asleep. He is fully awake by the time we reach my uncle’s room.

‘Derek, what’s happening? Why did you bring me to Harden’s room?’

‘Dad just read this. I shove the diary into his face. Confused he holds it at a reading distance and reads it. He seems to be a little shocked, but he reads the words multiple times and tears fall freely.

I feel bad but I was on a roll.

‘Dad, do you know what the last line means?’

He doesn’t respond immediately but takes a minute to compose himself.

‘Oh, all I can think of is the story Hansel and Gretel,’

‘That fairytale?’ I ask.

‘Yes, our father used to read it to us, as an example of siblings sticking together and helping each other out,’

Something clicks and I rush to his bookshelf and Dad follows me, as he flips through his brother’s diary.

‘I didn’t know what exactly Harden did, but I saw some threatening messages on his phone that day and I confronted him,’ my dad says.
But I’m too distracted to listen to him.

I’m looking for something intensely and I find it.
The storybook on Hansel and Gretel, I hold it and take the book out, before I can fully remove it the bookshelves shake.

Dad and I get scared and rush back thinking it is going to fall us. But the books don’t fall, the floor-length shelves open and give way to another room. Dad and I stand with our mouths wide open.

The room is full of beautiful antiques kept in glass cases and at the centre of the room is a table on which is an incomplete piece my uncle was trying to mend. Not only did he find antiques, but he restored them! And from the letter he wrote he left all of this to dad.

We don’t say anything to each other. My dad pushes the book back and the room closes. We walk up and Dad comes up to my room.

‘Derek, I don’t know....’

‘It’s okay Dad, it is your choice what you decide to do with it. I’ll be right here supporting you,’ he feels relieved.
He pats my head and walks away. He snaps back.
‘Derek. I forgot Harden had left this for you in his will,’ he gives me a small collar pin.

I had seen him wear it occasionally.

I take it, nod to Dad, and go to bed. I twirl the collar pin between my fingers. The symbol is new, it’s a magnifying glass and if you look closely, you can see a part of Earth. I touch the Earth and suddenly a hologram of a pudgy man in a suit pops out.

‘Mr. Derek Fabel, welcome to IAA. You were recommended by Mr. Harden for taking his spot. Would you be willing to do the same?’ he says looking at me.

I stared blankly unable to understand what was happening.

‘You have 10 seconds to decide, after which this message will disappear, and you will have no memory of this encounter. I must warn you; the job entails a lot of threat and no praise but there is satisfaction. I only tell you this because Harden was one of our best.’ He speaks.

I clearly take more than 10 seconds to understand and digest the information. The man stares are me, waiting.
A lot is rushing through my brain, but I’m stuck on one thought. Why did my uncle recommend me for such a dangerous yet important job?
What does he see in me that I don’t?

I guess it was time to figure it out.
I take a deep breath, and I say the two words that changed my life forever. ‘I do,’