Zack did not mishear anything; he burst into full, hiccupping laughter.

“Stop,” he managed, wiping at his eyes. “Stop, I can’t breathe. She left you the dog? That old mutt? That’s it?”

He shook his head at me. “Tough break, cuz. All that time playing nurse, and you get a senior citizen dog with bad joints.”

Bailey pressed closer to my legs like he understood every cruel word.I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered into his fur, “It’s okay, boy, you’re all I need.”

And the thing is, in that moment, I meant it.

Grandma trusted me with the creature she loved most, the one living being that had been with her through almost every day of the last thirteen years.

I would have taken that job gladly, even if it came with nothing else.

But Mr. Harper cleared his throat again, and his expression shifted into something more careful.”There is one more document,” he said, picking up the blue envelope I had not noticed before.

My heart did that weird stutter thing, like when you almost miss a step on the stairs.

“This is your grandmother’s final instruction,” he said. “She directed me to read it only after Bailey was officially accepted by his new owner.”He looked at me.

“You have accepted him, Lily?”I nodded, confused. “Of course.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, she’ll take the dog, whatever. Can we be done now?”

Mr. Harper ignored him.

“Your grandmother also asked me to tell you to turn Bailey’s collar around and take a good look,” he said to me. “Specifically, his tag.”For a second, I just blinked at him, but Bailey tilted his head and gave a soft whine, like he knew this part of the script already.My hands shook as I reached down and turned the small round tag on his collar.

On the front were his name and the house phone number, worn almost smooth.

On the back were three neat lines that twisted my whole world in one second.

A small bank logo.

A 10-digit code.

My grandma’s initials.

“What the hell is that?” Zack demanded, already halfway out of his chair so he could lean over and stare at the tag.Mr. Harper folded his hands like he had been rehearsing this line in his head for days.

“That tag is the key to your grandmother’s private trust account,” he said.

The room went so quiet I could hear the clock ticking behind me.

Zack blinked first. “Private what?”

“Your grandmother began the trust in 1989,” Mr. Harper said. “She received a large inheritance from an elderly neighbor she had cared for at the end of his life. He left her his home and his savings. She sold the property, lived modestly, and invested the rest for the future.”

My mouth felt dry.

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