A few yellow cabs were driving past, their tires hissing on the wet pavement.

I waved my arm wildly.

“Taxi!” I screamed.

One of the cabs slowed down and pulled over to the curb.

I grabbed the door handle and threw myself into the back seat.

“Go, go, go!” I told the driver.

He looked at me in the rearview mirror, surprised by my state.

“Where to, lady?”

“Broad Street,” I said. “Just drive.”

The cab pulled away from the curb just as the man from the sedan reached the sidewalk.

He watched us go, his face grim in the yellow light of the streetlamp.

I leaned back against the vinyl seat, my chest heaving.

I pulled the parchment deed from my pocket.

It was slightly damp, but the ink was still legible.

I unfolded it carefully under the dim light of the cab.

My eyes traced the signature of my mother, Lila Wren.

Beside it was the signature of Margaret Bell.

The date was October twelfth, nineteen ninety-four.

It was a binding partnership, giving each of them fifty percent ownership of the building and the business.