The diner Ryan chose looked like it had been decorated by someone who hated happiness. Fluorescent lights that made everyone look sick, cracked vinyl seats, and coffee that smelled like burnt rubber.
But it was open 24 hours and had two exits. After that threatening text, I wasn't taking chances.
Ryan was already there, laptop open, surrounded by papers. When he saw me, he stood up awkwardly, like he wanted to shake hands but realized that was weird.
"Thanks for coming," he said.
"You said you knew my grandmother."
"Right to business. I like that." He pushed a folder across the table. "But first, did anything happen after you left the estate? Anyone follow you?"
"Someone texted me. Told me to stop digging."
His face went pale. "Already? Damn. We need to move fast."
"We? Who's we? And what are you talking about?"
The waitress brought coffee without asking. It looked like motor oil. Perfect.
Ryan waited until she left, then opened the folder. Inside were old documents, newspaper clippings, photos I'd never seen.
"Your grandmother was Hanako Nakamura, one of the best artists in pre-war San Francisco. When the government forced Japanese Americans into camps, she had to hide everything. Not just art—an entire collection worth millions."
I stared at a photo of my grandmother standing next to paintings. She looked so young, so proud. Nothing like the quiet old woman who'd raised me after my parents died.
"She never said anything about this."
"Most survivors didn't. The trauma, the shame that was forced on them... they just wanted to forget." His voice got softer. "But the collection is still out there. Hidden. Waiting."
"How do you know all this?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "I've been researching it for two years. Academic interest turned into... something more."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Before he could respond, my phone rang. Marcus.
"Lily, where are you?" My brother's voice was tight with panic. "Someone broke into your apartment."
The coffee cup slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor.
My apartment looked like a hurricane had hit it. Everything I owned was thrown around, torn apart, destroyed. Even my paintings were slashed.
Marcus stood in the middle of the chaos, furious. "What the hell is going on?"
"I found something," I said, clutching my bag with the diary still inside. "At the estate sale."
"And this guy is?" Marcus pointed at Ryan, who'd insisted on coming.
"Ryan Torres. I'm trying to help—"
"Help? My sister's apartment is destroyed because of something you got her involved in."
"Marcus, stop. This isn't his fault."
"Then whose fault is it?"
Nana Rose appeared in the doorway, still in her nightgown but somehow looking dignified. "The police are on their way. Lily, dear, you'd better come to my apartment. All of you."
Nana Rose's apartment smelled like tea and old books. She listened while I explained everything, the diary open on her coffee table.
When I finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"I knew Hanako," she finally said.
We all stared at her.
"I was in the camps too. Different barrack, but same camp. Topaz, Utah." She touched the diary gently. "She talked about the paintings sometimes. Said they were hidden where only family could find them."
"You were in the camps?" I couldn't believe she'd never mentioned this.
"Different last name then. Different life." She looked at Ryan. "The J.B. in the diary—that's James Blackwood. He promised to help, but..."
"But he stole everything instead," a new voice said.
Zoe stood in the doorway, my best friend still in her pajamas, pink hair messy from sleep.
"Sorry, the door was open. Lily, are you okay?"
"How do you know about James Blackwood?" Ryan asked sharply.
"Google?" Zoe held up her phone. "Dude was shady. Bought up Japanese American property for basically nothing."
"His daughter is Victoria Blackwood," Ryan said. "She's been hunting the Nakamura collection for twenty years."
"Why?" I asked.
"To finish what her father started. Or to cover up his crimes. Maybe both."
I studied the diary again. One phrase kept jumping out: The lotus where the sun sets twice.
"Nana Rose, is there a place in San Francisco where the sun sets twice?"
She smiled. "Twin Peaks. On clear days, you can see the sun set over the ocean, and its reflection makes it look like it sets again."
"And there's a lotus garden in Golden Gate Park," Zoe added, already pulling up maps.
"This is dangerous," Marcus said. "Someone already broke in here."
"Which means they didn't find what they wanted." I stood up. "I'm going to find my grandmother's paintings."
"We're going," Ryan corrected. "You need help."
"Oh, now you're the hero?" Marcus scoffed.
"Boys, enough," Nana Rose said. "Lily, be careful. There's something else about your grandmother... something she never knew herself."
We all looked at her.
"She had another life. Before the camps, after the camps. The paintings weren't the only things she was hiding."
"What do you mean?"
But Nana Rose just shook her head. "Some secrets reveal themselves when they're ready. Just... be careful who you trust."
She was looking at Ryan when she said it.