The beam reveals a shallow well—maybe six feet deep—with clear water at the bottom. But what immediately catches our attention is a small niche carved into the wall just above the waterline.
And inside it… a metal box identical to the one I found in the underground passage.
— How are we supposed to reach it? Keira asks, leaning over the opening.
— I can climb down. It’s not that deep.
— And ruin your five-hundred-pound trousers? she shoots back with a smirk. No, let me. I’m lighter.
Before I can argue, she’s already pulling off her sweater.
— Hold this, she says, handing it to me, leaving herself in a fitted T-shirt.
I take it—momentarily distracted by the sight of her. She catches me staring and raises a brow.
— Problem, McKenzie?
— None, McGregor. I’m just concerned about your safety.
— Of course you are, she says, smiling like she doesn’t believe a word.
She lies flat on the ground and slides headfirst into the opening while I grip her legs.
— Got it! she calls. Help me up.
I pull her back out carefully. She emerges triumphant, hair a mess from hanging upside down, the metal box clutched in her hands.
— You’re completely insane, I tell her, torn between admiration and concern.
— A simple thank you would’ve been enough, she shoots back, tugging her sweater back on. Now come on—let’s open it!
We settle into the grass, side by side, the box between us. Like the first one, it’s rusted with age, but after a bit of effort, the lid gives way.
Inside, we find the other half of the map… the rest of the recipe… and a sealed envelope stamped with the McGregor crest.
Keira carefully picks it up, studying the wax seal.
With steady hands, she breaks it and pulls out a neatly folded letter. The paper is yellowed, the ink faded—but still perfectly legible.
— Do you want to read it? she asks.
I shake my head.
— It should be you. It’s your ancestor.
She takes a deep breath… and begins to read aloud.
My dearest Archibald,
If you are reading these words, then you have found my part of our treasure, as we agreed. I wish I could say this means we overcame the obstacles between us, but I fear the truth is far less kind.
Tonight, my father confronted me. He knows about us, Archibald. About our love… and our plan. Like yours, he has given me a cruel ultimatum: give you up, or be cast out of the McGregor family forever.
I write this without knowing what choice you will make when faced with the same fate. Perhaps you will choose your inheritance. Perhaps you will choose love.Whatever you decide, know this—I will never hold it against you. I understand the crushing weight of family expectations… of tradition.
Our paths will almost certainly part forever, but I wanted to leave you this final trace of our shared dream. Perhaps one day, when resentment has faded and pride has given way to wisdom, someone will find these fragments and understand what we tried to build.
That this whisky, which never came to be, was never just a drink—but a symbol of what our families could achieve together instead of against each other.
