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

Her expression softened.

“Because I know what it’s like.”

She explained that when she was seventeen, she’d lost her home and spent several months sleeping in her car.

During that difficult period, a waitress at a diner near the bus station gave her breakfast every morning.

“She never made me feel ashamed,” Josie said. “I never forgot what she did.”

I felt my throat tighten.

“Someone helped you, so now you help others?”

She nodded.

“That’s how it should work.”

I held the warm paper bag against my chest.

Then I asked her a question.

“Josie, have you ever noticed Brittany doing anything unusual when customers pay with credit cards?”

Her face became serious.

“Why are you asking?”

Before I could explain, the restaurant door opened again.

Trevor stormed outside.

“Josie! What are you doing?”

“I’m taking my break.”

He noticed the bag.

“Did you give him food from the kitchen?”