The familiar scar near his eyebrow.
Then he whispered,
“You’re Tommy Reynolds’s son.”
The biker’s chair scraped violently across the floor.
“My father’s name was Thomas.”
Arthur nodded.
The man’s voice dropped.
“How do you know him?”
Arthur looked at the photograph.
“Because I was there the night he died.”
The biker grabbed Arthur’s jacket.
“Tell me.”
Arthur did not resist.
“It happened in Detroit. At McMillan Steel.”
The diner had become silent.
“Your father was a supervisor. I was the shift foreman. The company knew Furnace Four was dangerous. We had reports. We had warnings.”
Arthur’s eyes filled with tears.
“I signed the authorization that allowed the crew to keep working.”
The biker released him.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you let him go inside?”
“I was afraid.”
Arthur looked down at his damaged leg.
“I had a wife who was sick. I had debts. Management threatened to fire everyone. I told myself that the furnace would hold.”
His voice broke.
“It didn’t.”
The memory returned with terrible clarity.
The warning system failed.
The thermal barrier ruptured.
Molten material burst through the retaining wall.
Arthur was thrown across the floor. A steel beam pinned his leg.
He screamed for help.
Men ran past him.
Then Thomas Reynolds came back.
“He could have escaped,” Arthur whispered. “Instead, he came for me.”
Thomas lifted the beam enough for Arthur to crawl free.
The roof was beginning to collapse.
Thomas pushed him toward the exit.
“Go!”
Arthur obeyed.
Behind him came an explosion.
Thomas never walked out.
The biker stared at Arthur.
“My mother told me it was an accident.”
“It was not.”
“My whole life I thought the company killed him.”
“They did.”