Sarah looked at the man, then back at the ball. The shop was quiet, save for the hum of a flickering neon sign in the window. She knew the market value. She knew the auction houses would fight for it. But she also saw the way Elias was looking at the door, like he was hoping someone would stop him from leaving it behind.

"Selling," Elias said. He cleared his throat. "It’s a ball. Signed. 1955 Dodgers."

She rotated it slowly under a magnifying lamp. There they were. Jackie Robinson. Roy Campanella. Duke Snider. The ink was faded, a ghostly blue against the hide, but the signatures were unmistakable.

"It’s authentic," Sarah said. "I can give you a fair price. Enough to fix whatever’s going on at home." Elias nodded, his shoulders dropping two inches.

Elias walked in with a shoebox under his arm. He didn’t look like a collector. He looked like a man trying to pay rent. Behind the glass case, a woman named Sarah looked up from a stack of pristine Mickey Mantles.