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Could this be the delineator? And could the other numbers be important years?
Yes! I look up 1513 and learn that it was the year Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel ceiling.
Could Evan’s grandfather be making a Ninja Turtle reference here?
Doubt it.
Henry the VIII also took the throne that year.
Something to do with multiple marriages?
Unlikely.
It was also the year when Machiavelli wrote The Prince.
Hmm. Did Evan’s grandfather want to brag about how Machiavellian his cypher is?
Wait.
1513 was also the year when a conquistador named Juan Ponce de León first sighted and claimed a certain land for his home country of Spain.
A land that he named after the Spanish word for “flowery”—florido—and that we now know as Florida.
As in, the penis shape on the map! I have to be on the right track here.
Using this info and the year 1565 leads me to a specific location in Florida, one that is actually a short drive away from Palm Islet: St. Augustine. A city that, according to Wikipedia, is “the oldest continuously occupied settlement of European origin in the continental United States.” It was founded in 1565.
Continuing in this vein, I soon figure out a more exact location within St. Augustine: the campus of what is now Flagler College, but which used to be a hotel named Hotel Ponce de León, founded by a Gilded Age industrialist named Henry Morrison Flagler who was born in 1830.
Brimming with excitement, I move on to the next line of numbers when Evan clears his throat.
Shit. I forgot he was even here—and given how hot this man is, that speaks volumes.
“You look like you’ve got something,” he says, studying me intently.
“I do,” I say and tell him about my findings.
“Boy, do I feel dumb,” he says after I’m done. “I went to Flagler College.”
“You did?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Majored in marketing. Can’t you tell?”
“Totally,” I say. “You sold me on that poultice, that’s for sure.”
I really hope he doesn’t ask me about my college experience. To answer that, I’d have to talk about my pregnancy and?—
“Do you want to go chase down this clue?” Evan asks, surprising me.
I grab the last of the Japanese food and stuff it gracelessly into my mouth—a kind of Twix commercial moment to give me a chance to gather my thoughts.
“I’ll split the treasure with you,” Evan says, and I think he’s trying to sound seductive. Or I hope he is because otherwise, I’m now wet for no reason.
“Split the treasure?” I finally manage to say.
He stands up. “Fifty-fifty?”
“No. We can’t do that. It was your grandfather. This is your birthright we’re talking about.” Feeling a little wobbly, I nevertheless get to my feet.
