My mother’s handwriting was clear and neat in the margins, noting major discrepancies in the food costs.

She had found out they were skimming.

And then, slipped between two ledger pages, a small, sealed yellow envelope slid out.

It was addressed to the Philadelphia District Attorney, but it had never been mailed.

I picked it up, my heart hammering.

The paper of the yellow envelope was dry and brittle.

I slid my finger under the flap, tearing it open.

Inside was a single sheet of heavy legal paper and a set of old brass keys.

The paper was a certified copy of the original deed to the building.

My mother’s name was listed alongside Marcus Romano’s.

“She owned half of it,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“She didn’t just work here. She built this place.”

Denise took the document from my hand, her eyes scanning the text quickly.

“This is the original partnership deed,” Denise whispered.

“And look at the date. It was signed five years before you were born.”

I looked at the keys.

They were tarnished to a dull brown.