I went to clean out my great-uncle’s apartment after he passed away.
He was never married, had no kids, and lived very poorly in a tiny apartment.
As we stripped the bed and moved the mattress, we were shocked.
He had …neatly stacked bundles of cash hidden in rows beneath the bedframe—wrapped in wax paper and rubber bands, labeled by year.
Some of the bills were so old they looked like they belonged in a museum.
We counted at least twelve bundles, each marked with dates going back to the 1970s.
My cousin gasped.
“This has to be… what, hundreds of thousands?”
But that wasn’t the strangest part.
Tucked inside one of the bundles was a faded photograph—a woman in a yellow dress standing beside a little girl.
On the back, in shaky handwriting, was written:
“For when the time comes. Don’t trust the bank. Don’t trust them.”
I stood frozen, staring at the message.
I had always thought of Uncle Al as the quiet, lonely type.
But now I wondered—who was the woman in the photo? And what was he hiding from all these years?
Then I noticed something else.
The floor beneath the bed felt… hollow.
We pried it open.
And what we found next—changed everything I thought I knew about him.