The afternoon I picked Mateo Herrera up from school, he leaned toward me in the back seat and whispered, “Mr. Rafael… my back hurts.”

Inside was my grandmother’s vintage gold pocket watch. But it wasn’t ticking.

I turned it over. The back casing had a tiny, intricate keyhole, and tucked into the velvet lining beside it was a brass key etched with a series of numbers and a single word: Napa.