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.
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. buy sell sports memorabilia near me
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. Sarah looked at the man, then back at the ball
The bell above the door chimed with a rusted, metallic groan. Inside, the shop smelled of old leather and vanilla-scented cardboard. Boxes of 1980s baseball cards sat like dusty skyscrapers on every counter. She knew the auction houses would fight for it