Elena turns sixteen on a spring afternoon, and she asks me the question I've been quietly expecting for years.
"Dad, can you actually take me to see it? The Exchange floor, I mean. Where everything started."
I glance at Talia across the kitchen table, both of us recognizing this moment carries considerable weight beyond a simple request.
"It's not really a place for casual visits," I say carefully. "But given everything you already understand about our history, I think you're ready to actually see it."
We arrange the visit for the following weekend, walking together toward the building that once represented pure terror and desperate survival, now transformed into something considerably different given years of comprehensive reform.
The floor looks nothing like I remember from those ea
