They would look at everyone who ever spoke to me.

“We have enough to file the amended complaint tomorrow,” Denise said.

She zipped her briefcase shut.

“The forgery alone is enough to reopen the estate case.”

“Is it enough to clear her name?” I asked.

“Yes,” Denise said.

She put a hand on my shoulder.

“But we have to be careful, Harper. The Romanos aren’t just businessmen. They have deep roots in this city.”

I walked over to the window and looked down into the alley.

The yellow light from the kitchen door cast a long triangle onto the wet cobblestones.

Mr. Alvarez stood in the doorway, taking a quick drag from a cigarette.

His shoulders were hunched against the cold mist.

He looked tired, his hands red and raw from the soapy water.

He had spent forty years in that basement kitchen while the Romanos grew richer on my mother’s stolen dream.

I felt a cold wave of anger settle deep in my stomach.

“I’m not running,” I said.

“We file the papers.”

“First thing in the morning,” Denise agreed.