Another box revealed a tin full of old silver dollars, their faces worn smooth from handling. Frank examined a few, flipping them in his hand before making another offer, which Charlie Grace quickly accepted. Nick sighed but chuckled under his breath.
Then they moved to the big trunk.
It sat toward the back of the attic, half-buried beneath a pile of burlap sacks. The wood was dark, almost black with age, the iron reinforcements still sturdy despite the rust creeping along their edges. A thick padlock held it shut, its keyhole filled with dust and time.
“Do you have the key?” Tess asked.
Charlie Grace moved to the stairs and looked down, spotting her dad sitting in his wheelchair. “Dad, do we have a key to that old trunk?”
He shook his head and hollered. “Afraid not.”
Charlie Grace returned to the trunk and delivered the news. “I guess you can break the lock open.”
Frank nodded with a grin. “Won’t be the first time.” He motioned to Milo who slipped a bolt cutter from his back pocket and handed it over.
Charlie Grace ran her hand over the lid. “Go ahead,” she said, stepping back.
With a few well-placed strikes, Frank cut through the lock, sending sparks flying. Doug zoomed in with the camera as the lid creaked open. Inside, beneath a layer of yellowed fabric, lay stacks of black-and-white photographs, their edges curled with age. The images depicted men and women in old-fashioned clothing, standing on what appeared to be the deck of a ship.
Clancy called up from below. “What did you find?”
Charlie Grace sifted through the pictures. “Photographs. Looks like an immigrant family arriving by boat,” she said in a voice loud enough for him to hear.
Clancy let out a short laugh. “Must be Alf’s family in those pictures.”
As they carefully sifted through the trunk, Tess reached in and pulled out a small velvet pouch, its drawstring nearly rotted away. With the utmost care, she eased it open, revealing something gleaming inside.
The cameraman came in closer.
Frank lifted the item into the dim attic light—a gold pocket watch, its casing ornately engraved. He turned it over, his eyes widening. “Do you know what you have here?” His voice carried an edge of disbelief as he looked at Tess. “Oh, my goodness. This is a Patek Philippe.”
Charlie Grace exchanged looks with Nick, unsure of the significance.
Frank exhaled slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not just any Patek Philippe. This could be one of the rarest models in existence.”
From below, Clancy shouted, “What did you find?”
Tess ran her fingers over the watch’s face, her breath hitching. “If this is authentic, it could be worth…” She trailed off, then locked eyes with Charlie Grace, gripping her arm. “This watch is valued at about ten million dollars.”
Milo’s boom mic wobbled in his grip. Even Doug’s camera shook slightly as he zoomed in on the gleaming watch.
Silence swallowed the attic, thick and weighty. Charlie Grace’s pulse pounded so fiercely she could hear it in her ears, feel it in her fingertips as they clamped onto Tess’s arm.
Nick stared at the watch, then at her, his mouth parting slightly in stunned disbelief.
“That’s…” He let out a low whistle, raking a hand through his hair. “That’s ten million dollars.” A slow grin spread across his face, his eyes shining with something close to wonder. “Charlie Grace. You just hit the jackpot.”
Her breath caught, the weight of it all pressing against her ribs. But then Nick let out a laugh, shaking his head in amazement as he pulled her into an embrace. “You ready to be Wyoming’s newest millionaire?”
Realization crashed over her like a rogue wave, stealing her breath. That sum was enough to pay off the ranch loan. Enough to erase every sleepless night spent worrying about money. Enough to change everything.
From below, Clancy’s voice bellowed once more—this time a bit louder. “Would somebody please tell me what the hell is going on up there?”
22
Charlie Grace stood just outside the barn, arms folded, watching as Frank Ellis, the Treasure Pickers host, held the old pocket watch delicately in his gloved hand. His voice was filled with awe as he turned the timepiece over, showing off the fine engravings to the crew.
“I put in a few calls, and this is the real deal,” Frank said, his tone tinged with reverence. “An 1870s Patek Philippe minute repeater. These were owned by some of the wealthiest people back then—railroad tycoons, industrialists, maybe even royalty.” He let the thought hang while watching Charlie Grace for her reaction. “Of course, we’ll have to have an appraisal done before we cut you a check, so to speak. But I hope you understand what just happened here.” He gently placed the watch in her hand.
