“I guess Dad knew exactly what each of us deserved.”
Nobody answered.
Linda looked uncomfortable.
The attorney simply gathered his papers.
I thanked him politely.
Then carried the clock home.
It felt strangely heavy.
Not because of its weight.
Because of everything it represented.
Remembering His Words
Late that evening I sat staring at it.
I remembered childhood conversations.
His smile.
His mysterious promise.
“One day, this clock will answer every question you never thought to ask.”
For the first time…
I wondered if he’d actually meant it.
An Unusual Detail
The next morning I began carefully cleaning the wooden case.
Years of dust had collected inside the carved trim.
As sunlight crossed the polished oak, I noticed something unusual.
Near one decorative panel was a tiny groove.
It looked almost intentional.
Too precise to be accidental.
Yet I’d never noticed it before.
Curiosity took over.
Visiting the Clockmaker
An elderly clockmaker named Mr. Whitaker operated a tiny repair shop downtown.
His family had restored antique clocks for nearly sixty years.
He adjusted his glasses while examining mine.
“A beautiful piece,” he murmured.
“Late nineteenth century.”
He slowly inspected every carving.
Every hinge.
Every screw.
Then he suddenly stopped.
Without saying a word, he reached into a drawer and selected an unusually thin brass tool.
Carefully, he pressed against an almost invisible point inside the wood.
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