Maggie knelt on the cold linoleum floor. The diner was empty, the late-night silence pressing against her ears. She pressed her fingers against the edge of the loose tile.
It gave way with a soft click. This wasn’t a renovation error; it was a deliberate hiding spot, tucked away from the eyes of every waiter who had served him for seven years.
Underneath the tile sat a small, rusted metal box. It was heavy for its size, secured with a faded ribbon that looked like it belonged to a different century.
Her hands trembled as she lifted it out. What could a man who never spoke have to hide in a public restaurant?
Top Articles
