I’D BEEN BACK IN SAN FRANCISCO for two weeks. I attempted to honor Joaquín’s wish and stay in school, but I couldn’t focus. Even attending guided meditations and kirtan chanting hadn’t helped. My mind raced in class. I hadn’t slept well since I’d returned.

I glanced around my room in the tiny North Beach apartment I shared with two other San Francisco State students. Scripts lay across my desk, with stacks of books huddled against the wall. Just a little over a month ago my life had been so simple, so easy. One focus, one goal. To be the best actress possible. How stupid and trivial my dreams seemed now.

I swiped through my iPhone to the San Diego News app, scanning for headlines about Joaquín. I didn’t have to even scroll down the page. There it was at the top. Bail denied for U.S. Navy SEAL accused of murdering a stripper.

Fuck.

My ears pounded and my vision blurred. I couldn’t even read the article. No hope. This was it—the realization finally sank in that he might get convicted of this crime.

I called Joaquín’s lawyer, but the secretary told me that my brother had given instructions not to talk to me anymore. The secretary had only one thing to say: Joaquín had transferred the title of his truck to me. I knew Joaquín too well—this was his way of ensuring I went on with my life. But what he didn’t realize was that I would never be able to enjoy my life unless I fought for his.

I needed to clear my head, meditate, try to find some peace. Find a way to connect to Joaquín.

Despite being desperate for sleep, I climbed into his truck—my truck now—and headed over the Golden Gate Bridge toward Mt. Tamalpais. It was a clear day; San Francisco’s famous fog seemed to have cleared the way for this mission. The winding hills through Mill Valley reminded me of the weekend adventures Joaquín and I had gone on with our parents.

Mt. Tam was more than a mountain to me—it was a sacred place, a vortex of energy. Grant and Joaquín never missed an opportunity to tease me about my spiritual beliefs. I was raised Catholic, but after my parents died, I’d become deeply spiritual. I practiced yoga, became a vegan, attended kirtan chants, and meditated. My dedication only grew stronger after I’d left Grant. For me, my spirituality was a way to center myself, develop a personal relationship with God, and feel closer to my parents.

As the Raptor approached our favorite trailhead, my breathing slowed, and a memory took hold of me.

“Let’s do a time capsule!”

Joaquín, a skinny boy around age twelve with a devilish grin, led me down the trail. Our parents slowly lagged in the distance. Always the Boy Scout, Joaquín took a Swiss army knife from his pocket and notched a hole at the base of a tree.

“Give me your bracelets.”

I shoved the candy-colored beaded bracelets off my wrist and handed them to him without a second thought. A big deal, considering at age eleven, those tacky things were my prized possessions.

Joaquín’s eyes twinkled. He loved going on adventures, and I was always his right-hand girl. Most brothers and sisters fight, but we were truly best friends.

He took a small leather pouch out of his back pocket. “This was made by the Miwok Indians.” He slipped his Swiss army knife inside, wrapped in my bracelets, reached deep between the roots of the tree, and dropped the pouch inside.

“One day, when we’re older, we’ll come back here and find our treasures.”

I thought it was stupid, but I would never tell him that. I just hugged him, and we ran off toward the voices of our parents.

Centering myself back in present day, I touched the damp soil. I closed my eyes, and I could hear my parents’ voices calling us. “Mia, Joaquín. Where are you two?”

The voices became quieter in my head, and I found the tree. Eleven years later, the old oak had seen better days, but it still stood, leaves gathered at the base.

I knelt beside the trunk, my hand wrestling with the soil, which was surprisingly loose like it had been disturbed not long ago. Digging faster, furious. It has to be in here. I’d all about given up when my fingers touched something smooth. I reached down and grabbed … the pouch!

I tore it open, now weathered with dirt and rain. My bracelets flew out, but instead of Joaquín’s knife, I found a small wooden box.

He’s been back here?

The box was new. When had he come up here? He hadn’t visited me in at least a year.

I flipped the box open, and inside was a small key and a dog tag. I pulled the dog tag to me and squinted at the etched numbers. WF #1459.

WF—Wells Fargo? I examined the plain key. It looked like the safe deposit box key from our bank. Joaquín and I had opened this box for my mom’s jewelry once I turned eighteen, but I’d forgotten all about it. I had my own key somewhere back at my place, but I would’ve never thought to look in the box.

My jaw dropped. I knew he hadn’t killed Tiffany. He must’ve known something was going down. Joaquín was so smart he had planned to send me on this chase. He believed in me and knew I could save him.

My watch read four thirteen. The bank was open until six. I stuffed the dirty pouch into my pocket, raced back to the truck, and sped down the hill.

After stewing for twenty-five minutes in traffic, I reached the bank. I handed the teller the key, she asked for my ID and gave me the signature card.

Joaquín’s name was signed above mine; the date entered was a week after the murder.

Holy shit! He’d come up here just the other week and not told me?

I scribbled my name on the card, and she led me to the safe deposit boxes. When she placed the bank key in the lock with mine, it clicked open, and she handed me the box. My heart fluttered.

I took the box to the room, anticipated what I would find. A note? Instructions?

I slowly opened the lid. There was a certified check made out to me for seventy-five thousand dollars. Also dated a week after the murder.

Where did he get this money? Was this money dirty? Related to Tiffany’s death?

A note floated out of the box. Mia, here’s the rest of Mom and Dad’s life insurance. Please spend it wisely. I love you.

Please spend it wisely. He knew. He knew he’d be arrested. But why? How could he possibly have known? It was a testimony to our close relationship that he knew he could provide the one hint that would send me here. It was also testimony to how much he loved me that he wanted to provide for me, look after me. Just as he had always done.

The only thing I could conclude was that he was in over his head in something…I didn’t know what. His last gesture, which didn’t surprise me, was to make sure I was taken care of. It brought tears to my eyes. My heart ached.

I emptied the safe deposit box, desperate for another clue. But it was completely barren.

But I had other plans. I would take this money and find out the truth. I’d clear his name.

I slammed the box shut and walked out to the teller. “I’d like to deposit this check.”