I was halfway through a roofing estimate when my phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost sent it to voicemail, but something in my gut said, “Pick up.”
“Hello?”
“Hi. Is this Cameron Martin?” The guy’s voice was low and scratchy.
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“This is Frank. I’m with DeMarco’s Pawn and Gold over in Glendale. I believe I have something that belongs to you.”
I squinted at the phone, already annoyed. “What is it?”
“A Rolex Submariner. Stainless, black face. Inscription on the back says, ‘To Cam, love always, Dad.’”
My stomach dropped. I spun around in my chair and yanked open the bottom drawer of my desk. That’s where I kept it, always safe during work hours, wrapped in a microfiber cloth and tucked behind a stack of old invoices. It was gone.
My chest burned. My hands were shaking. I forced myself to speak. “Where’d you get it?”
“A young guy came in yesterday afternoon. Said it was his.”
I already knew. Tanner.
“This really isn’t something I want to explain over the phone,” Frank continued. “I think you should come down here.”
I didn’t ask for directions. I just grabbed my keys and walked out. The guys in the office called something after me, but the words were lost in the roaring in my ears. That watch was the only damn thing my dad left me when he died three years ago. No real estate, no life insurance, just the watch he wore every single day of his life.
I remember the last time he had it on. He was down to 140 pounds, his face sunken and gray from chemo, but his eyes were still sharp, still clear. He took the watch off, his hand trembling, and pressed it into my palm. “This is yours, Cam,” he’d said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Don’t let anyone take it from you.”
I should have kept it at home. I should have put it in a safe. I should have known my mother’s golden boy, her second husband’s son, Tanner, would pull some crap like this eventually. He thought he could take what wasn’t his. He was about to learn just how wrong he was.
DeMarco’s was wedged between a payday loan place and a busted vape shop in a half-dead strip mall. The windows were covered in metal bars, the sign half-lit. I marched in, the bell over the door jangling angrily. The place smelled like dust and desperation.
Behind the counter stood a man with a thick neck and tanned, leathery skin. “You Cam?” he asked, his voice like gravel.
“Yeah.”
He nodded once, his eyes assessing me. “You look like your old man. Same jaw.”
My throat tightened. Frank reached under the counter and produced a familiar blue leather box. He popped the latch and lifted the lid. There it was. My dad’s Rolex. The bezel was nicked at two o’clock, a scar from a kitchen remodel in Flagstaff.
“Who brought it in?” I asked, my voice tight.
“Kid said his name was Tanner. Tall, blonde, early twenties. Claimed it was his dad’s. Left to him.”
My fists curled at my sides.
“He didn’t look like you,” Frank continued, “and he sure as hell didn’t act like someone who’d earned a Rolex. Didn’t even know how to pronounce ‘Submariner.’ That’s when I started looking.” He reached under the counter again and pulled out an old paper folder. “Your dad ever mention pawning this watch before?”
“Never.”
“Well, he did. Brought it in sixteen years ago. Right around the time you’d be starting trade school. Took a loan out for thirty-five hundred. Paid it off in twenty-nine days. Cash.”
He handed me a photocopy of the ticket. My dad’s name, Russ Martin, was clear as day. He never said a word.
“This belongs to you,” Frank said, setting the box on the counter. “No question.” I reached out, my heart thudding, and lifted the watch. The weight of it was a familiar comfort in my hand. Then Frank cleared his throat.
“Found something else. Never seen this before.” He took the watch and pressed his pinky fingernail into a nearly invisible groove behind the clasp. A tiny latch popped open. Inside, folded tight, was a scrap of yellowed paper. He slid it out with tweezers.
My hands were sweating as I unfolded it. The handwriting punched me in the gut. My dad’s sharp, slanted, all-caps script.
CAM, IF YOU’RE READING THIS, GO TO SAFE DEPOSIT BOX 313 AT UNION FIRST. KEY’S IN MY SOCKET SET, BEHIND THE 5/8S.
I swallowed hard.
“No offense,” Frank said, “but your old man was the kind of guy who planned ahead. Most people hide weed in their watch. Yours hid instructions.”
I snorted despite myself. I slipped the watch onto my wrist and pocketed the note.
“Hey,” Frank called after me as I turned to leave. “That guy, Tanner. He looked nervous. Real nervous. I don’t think he thought he’d get caught.”
I pushed open the door, the Arizona heat hitting me in the face. “Oh, he’s caught,” I said. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
I drove straight to my mom’s place in Sun City. Her garage was open, her second husband Gary’s ridiculous golf cart half-blocking the walkway. I walked into the kitchen without knocking. They were sitting at the table, surrounded by bank statements and a legal pad with Tanner’s name scribbled across the top. I dropped the Rolex on the table with a solid thunk. “Lose something?”
My mom’s eyes locked on the watch like it had fangs. “Where’d you get that?” Gary asked, his voice too fast.
“It was reported stolen this morning,” I said, my voice low. “Funny thing, the pawn shop called me. Said a guy named Tanner sold it yesterday.”
“Cam,” my mom started, her face pale. “It’s not what you think.”
“You pawned it for Tanner,” I said, leaning over the table. “For his dumbass app idea.”
“He needed help! Just a little seed money!”
“That watch is the only thing Dad left me!” I snapped. “You knew that! You knew what it meant!”
“Tanner’s trying to build something!” she shouted. “He has vision! He’s not stuck installing gutters his whole life!”
I laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “Oh, so because I work with my hands, I don’t count?”
“You’ve always been small-time, Cam,” Gary jumped in. “No ambition. Tanner’s different.”
“Different? He stole from me. You backed him.”
“You have no idea what it’s like,” my mom said, her voice rising, “watching one son stay stuck while the other reaches for more!”
