Chapter 3 - THE KEY INSIDE GRANDMA'S SEWING BOX
I had kept my grandmother's brass key for three years without knowing what it opened.
Now a powerful stranger was telling me it might expose a crime buried for almost four decades.
Kareem wanted to see it immediately.
But I wasn't about to hand over the last mysterious gift my grandmother had given me.
"It's at my apartment," I said.
"Where?"
"Queens."
He glanced toward his chief of staff, Omar Haddad.
"Arrange transportation."
I immediately shook my head.
"No."
Kareem looked surprised.
"Miss Brooks?"
"I don't know you. I don't know why Grandma never mentioned you. And I definitely don't know why people call you dangerous."
He studied me.
Then nodded.
"Fair questions."
Layla smiled faintly.
"She sounds like Samira."
Kareem looked at his wife.
"She does."
I stood.
"I need to finish my shift."
Before Kareem could respond, the private dining room door opened.
Trent Mallory appeared.
His face was red.
"Nia, kitchen. Now."
Kareem's expression hardened.
"She's speaking with me."
Trent forced a smile.
"Of course, sir. But she's still my employee."
I stepped forward.
"It's okay."
Trent leaned close enough for only me to hear.
"You're finished here."
My heart dropped.
Then Kareem spoke.
"I heard that."
Trent froze.
Kareem looked toward the restaurant's general manager, who had appeared behind him.
"I want the incident involving Miss Brooks reviewed. Preserve the security footage."
The general manager nodded.
"Yes, Mr. Rahal."
Kareem turned back to me.
"You're free to leave if you choose. And if your employer retaliates, document it."
For the first time that night, someone powerful wasn't asking me to obey.
He was giving me a choice.
I picked up my coat.
"I want to go home."
Layla approached.
"Would you feel comfortable if I accompanied you?"
Something about her calm voice made me trust her more than I trusted Kareem.
I nodded.
An hour later, we arrived at my apartment building in Queens.
Kareem waited outside with Omar while Layla accompanied me upstairs.
My apartment was small.
One bedroom.
A narrow kitchen.
Furniture I'd collected from thrift stores.
Layla glanced around without judgment.
"Samira lived here?"
"Until she died."
I walked toward the bedroom closet.
On the highest shelf sat her old wooden sewing box.
I opened it.
Inside were needles, buttons, ribbons, and a faded photograph of Grandma holding me as a baby.
Beneath the fabric lining was the brass key.
I lifted it.
Then noticed something I had never seen before.
A folded piece of paper had been tucked beneath the wooden compartment.
My name was written on it.
Nia.
My hands trembled.
I opened the note.
My darling girl,
If anyone from the Rahal family comes looking for this key, do not give it to them until you know who really killed Farid.
I stopped breathing.
Layla stared at the letter.
Then whispered:
"Kareem always believed his brother died in an accident."
I read the next sentence.
May you like
And my entire body went cold.
"Farid Rahal was murdered by someone he trusted. And the person responsible is still alive."
