Chapter 22 – The Box That Didn’t Burn

The letter arrived three days after the article dropped.

No return address. Just a simple white envelope with Ronny Ellis handwritten in black ink. The handwriting was old-fashioned, the kind people didn’t use anymore—sharp loops and narrow spacing, like it belonged to someone born before World War II.

Ronny sat at the kitchen table, staring at it.

Maya sat across from him, arms folded.

“Do you want to open it?”

Ronny nodded once. “If it’s a threat, I want to see what kind of penmanship evil uses.”

He opened it carefully.

Inside was a single sheet of yellowing stationery.

The letter read:

Mr. Ellis,

Your grandfather didn’t tell you everything.

The pact wasn’t just about land. It was about something they found—and then hid.

Margie tried to stop them not just because of fraud. She knew what the land was covering.

I was there the night they buried her.

I tried to stop them. I failed.

But I didn’t burn everything.

There is a second box.

Go to the root cellar beneath the Dawes farmhouse. Beneath the third stone from the east wall.

– A Witness

Ronny reread it twice. Then handed it to Maya.

She read it in silence.

Then looked up. “We searched the barn. We never searched the house.”

Ronny nodded. “Because we thought the story was done.”

Maya’s eyes met his. “It’s not.”

He stood slowly and reached for the backpack they’d used on the first trip to Rayburn Creek. “Then let’s finish it right.”

---

That night, under a half-moon and the rustle of cottonwood trees, they returned to the crumbling Dawes farmhouse, flashlights in hand.

The floorboards groaned beneath them. Dust floated in the beams of light. The smell of rot and mildew clung to everything.

They found the cellar door beneath a rug in the back hallway.

It creaked open like a secret trying not to wake anyone.

The stairs were narrow, damp, and slick. At the bottom, stone walls encased the small root cellar. It was empty except for the earth floor and the old wooden shelves collapsing with age.

Ronny moved to the east wall and began counting stones.

“One. Two. Three.”

He knelt.

The third stone was loose.

With effort, he pulled it free.

Behind it was a small cavity—and inside, wrapped in oilskin and bound with twine, was another box.

This one smaller than Margie’s. But heavier.

They set it gently on the floor, breath tight in their lungs.

Ronny looked at Maya. “Ready?”

She nodded.

He opened it.

Inside were three items:

1. A revolver—rusted, uncleaned, old.
2. A leather-bound notebook, different than Margie’s. Initials on the cover: J.C.
3. A gold brooch, stained with something that looked like blood.

Maya picked up the notebook. She opened to the first page. The handwriting was tight. Paranoid.

If someone finds this, then you know what I did.
I didn’t bury the truth. I buried something else.
And it’s still out there.

She looked at Ronny, eyebrows furrowed.

“Something else?”

Ronny picked up the brooch. “This wasn’t Margie’s.”

Maya closed the notebook slowly.

“We didn’t find the end of the story,” she said.

“We found the next beginning.”

A Note From The Author:

Thank you for following along with The Dollar Map —a story that began with a folded slip of paper in a thrift store book... and ended with a secret buried for over 80 years.

But as you’ve seen, not all secrets stay buried.

Ronny and Maya thought they had uncovered the truth behind Margie Dalton’s disappearance. But with the discovery of a second box—containing a weapon, a stained brooch, and a journal belonging to the enigmatic J.C.—they’ve only cracked open a deeper layer of mystery.

Who was the other victim?

What was really buried beneath the Dawes land?

And what did John Collier want to keep hidden badly enough to kill for?

Those answers are still waiting.
And so are Ronny and Maya.

Stay tuned for Book Two of The Dollar Map series:

The Witness’s Ledger

Because some stories don’t end.

They just wait to be found.