"The new owner is tripling the rent starting next month."
"Tripling?"
Dmitri nodded.
"Or we can buy the building ourselves."
He stared at the paper.
"$480,000."
"How long?"
"Thirty days to decide."
The number sat over the table like a death sentence.
"I went to three banks yesterday," Dmitri continued. "All said no. Credit isn't strong enough. I'm too old. They say the neighborhood is too risky."
He laughed bitterly.
"Forty years here, and now it's over."
Maria wiped her eyes.
"I already started looking for another job. Nothing has hours like this. Nothing lets me pick up my kids."
Lashonda felt the room tilt.
Not Riverside.
Not this place.
"What about Tommy?"
"I called him this morning," Dmitri said. "Told him to start looking too."
They sat quietly.
Outside, people walked past the windows wrapped in warm coats.
The city continued as though nothing unusual had happened.
"If you know anyone," Dmitri said eventually, "anyone with money, anyone who might invest..."
Lashonda immediately thought of Arthur.
His expensive watch.
His ring.
The brownstone.
Clearly he had money.
But she had no way to contact him.
She did not even know his last name.
And even if she did, Lashonda would not have asked.
That was not why she helped him.
"I don't know anyone like that," she said.
Dmitri nodded.
"I didn't think so. But I had to ask."
They would all begin looking for work.
Give themselves the month.
Hope for a miracle none of them truly expected.
Lashonda tried working her shift, but fever blurred everything.
She coughed constantly.
Several times she had to retreat into the back room.
By noon, Dmitri had seen enough.
"Go home."
"I'm okay."
"No. You're sick. Go rest."
Lashonda took the bus back to her apartment and collapsed into bed.
She slept through most of Saturday.
Then most of Sunday.
Monday morning, there was an envelope beneath her apartment door.
Eviction warning.
Full rent due Friday.
If payment was not received, proceedings would begin.
Lashonda sat on the edge of her mattress and counted her money again.
$163.
Rent required: $420.
Short by $257.
Even if she worked every available shift that week, the math did not work.
The diner was at risk of closing.
Her apartment was at risk.
She was sick.
She could barely afford medicine.
For one painful moment, Lashonda wondered whether she should have kept the coat.
Maybe she should have asked Arthur for something.
A phone number.
A ride.
Anything.
Then she rejected the thought.
No.
She had made the correct choice.
Diane would have done exactly the same.
But knowing you had done the right thing did not keep an apartment warm.
It did not pay rent.
It did not guarantee a job.
Tuesday morning, Lashonda forced herself back to work.
At 9:15, Maria burst through the kitchen doors holding her phone.
Her eyes were wide.
"Lashonda, you need to see this."
Maria shoved the screen toward her.
A news article from Saturday morning filled the display.
CITY PHILANTHROPIST ARTHUR BRENNAN FOUND SAFE AFTER BLIZZARD DISAPPEARANCE.
Lashonda stopped breathing for a second.
There was a photograph.
The old man.
Her old man from the storm.
Except in the photograph, he looked completely different.
Professional headshot.
Confident smile.
Expensive suit.
"That's him," Lashonda whispered.
Maria looked at her.
"What?"
"That's him."
Maria nearly shouted.
"Do you know who he is?"
Lashonda started reading.
Arthur Brennan, 72.
Prominent investor and philanthropist.
Reported missing Friday evening during a medical episode associated with early-stage Alzheimer's disease.
Wandered from his residence.
Returned safely home shortly after 11:00 p.m.
A family statement expressed gratitude toward an unidentified person who had helped him during the storm.
Then came another sentence.
Brennan was reportedly attempting to locate the individual who had assisted him so he could personally express his gratitude.
Maria grabbed Lashonda's shoulders.
"Arthur Brennan. He is worth hundreds of millions of dollars."
The number barely registered.
"I just wanted him to get home safely," Lashonda said.
"And you gave him your mother's coat."
"He needed it more than I did."
Maria stared at her.
"Lashonda, that man could buy a thousand coats."
"That's not why I did it."
Tommy appeared from the kitchen.
"Wait. Some lady came in yesterday asking about you."
Lashonda turned.
"What?"
"Professional-looking woman. Suit. Briefcase. She asked Dmitri about the waitress who closed Friday night."
Lashonda felt suddenly uneasy.
"What did he tell her?"
"Nothing really. Didn't give your name. Just said somebody had been working that night."
Tommy paused.
"She left a business card, but Dmitri can't find it."
Lashonda looked toward the front windows.
The idea of becoming part of a public story made her uncomfortable.
What if Arthur's people found her?
What if reporters found out?
What if everyone assumed she had helped him because she wanted money?
Lashonda wanted none of that.
Her pride was one of the few things life had not managed to take.
Wednesday morning, Tommy pointed through the front window.
"That black town car is still out there."
Lashonda frowned.
"What car?"
"Across the street. Been there since yesterday. Driver just sits there."
Maria looked outside.
"That is weird."
Lashonda's anxiety grew.
Then Thursday morning, she arrived at Riverside and found a brown-paper package outside the door.
String tied around it.
Her name written neatly on top.
LASHONDA HAYES.
She carried it inside.
Opened it carefully.
Her mother's coat.
Professionally cleaned.
The tear near the inside seam, one Lashonda had almost forgotten about, had been repaired so carefully that she could barely find it.
She pressed the fabric to her face.
Beneath the dry-cleaning scent, White Diamonds remained.
Faint.
But there.
Inside one pocket was cream-colored stationery.
I believe this belongs to you.
I haven't forgotten.
A.B.
There was also a business card.
Arthur C. Brennan.
Brennan Capital Partners.
A telephone number had been handwritten on the back.
Lashonda stood holding the card.
She had not yet decided whether she would call when, at exactly 10:30, a black town car stopped outside Riverside Cafe.
Two people in suits stepped out first.
Then Arthur Brennan.
The breakfast rush was in full swing.