Sarah Miller stood in front of the mirror, checking the manila folder for the third time.
The folder was thick and heavy, its corners already worn and frayed.
Inside were her lease agreement, bank statements, the shop's floor plan, and three different versions of a health and safety pledge.
And a white envelope.
Inside the envelope was five hundred US dollars in cash.
This was per her aunt's specific instructions.
Her aunt had run a restaurant in Pittsburgh for twenty years and knew City Hall's rules like the back of her hand.
"Listen, kid." Her aunt's expression at the time was like she was passing down some secret survival guide. "Go to the service hall, find the fat guy behind window number three, the one who always has droopy eyelids."
"If he nitpicks that your forms are filled out wrong, or says your handwriting isn't neat, don't argue with him. Just slip this envelope under the forms when you hand them in."
