Arthur placed the card gently on the desk. He had carried it for nearly fifty years.
“I tried to find you,” Arthur said hoarsely. “But your family name changed. Records ended at your mother.”
“I was born right before he deployed,” Vincent said. “He never held me.”
Arthur smiled faintly. “He talked about you constantly. Called you ‘little Vinnie.’ Carried your photo everywhere.”
Tears slid down Vincent’s face.
“Please,” he said. “Tell me about him.”
Arthur did.
He spoke of laughter in impossible conditions. Of letters written by flashlight. Of a man who believed—despite everything—that he would make it home.
And then came the day near the creek. The ambush. The injuries.
Arthur’s voice barely carried.
“He knew. He pressed his wallet into my hand and said, ‘Find my son.’”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“They took his tags,” Arthur continued. “But not this.”
Silence wrapped the room.
Vincent finally spoke. “He was a hero.”
After a moment, anger surfaced.
“I’m firing that kid,” Vincent said.
Arthur stopped him.
“No.”
Vincent frowned. “He disrespected you.”
“He didn’t know,” Arthur said. “Teach him.”
Kaden was called into the office. He expected termination.
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