I dressed like a homeless man and walked into my own restaurant to see how my employees treated people who couldn’t afford a decent meal. I expected some unfriendly attitudes and perhaps a few rude remarks. Instead, I uncovered something so alarming that I eventually had to contact the police

A businessman checked his back pocket as I approached.

Near the corner of Grand and Fifth, I passed a man sitting beside a cardboard sign asking for help.

He wore an old coat and had a gray beard.

As I walked past, he looked directly at me and gave a small nod.

I returned it.

He was the only stranger who acknowledged me during the entire walk.

At noon, I opened the glass doors of Dolly’s.

The little bell above the entrance rang.

I had installed that bell eleven years earlier because the Blue Plate had one just like it.

The restaurant was only half full.

I could see several empty tables near the windows.

Behind a modern black hostess stand stood a young woman with blonde hair tied into a ponytail.

Brittany.

She was looking at her phone.

When she finally raised her eyes, she examined my clothes and immediately frowned.