Jaxon turned his attention back to Arthur. The old man was staring at his trembling hands, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer proximity of the violence he had just narrowly avoided. "Why didn't you let them take me?" Arthur asked, his voice raspy and broken.
After what I did, after what I stole from you, you have every right to want me dead. "My father gave his life so you could keep yours," Jaxon said, the words tasting strange and heavy in his mouth. He leaned forward, his massive forearms resting on the table.
"If I let my brothers drag you out back and cave your skull in, then my old man died for nothing." Thomas Reynolds didn't throw away his life for a piece of garbage. He saved a man. I'm not going to undo his final act.
Arthur let out a ragged sob, burying his face in his hands. The absolute grace in Jaxon's brutal honesty was more than he could bear. But that doesn't mean you're forgiven, old man. Jaxon added, his tone growing cold again.
You still signed that paper. So tell me why. Why track me down now after 35 years? If you just wanted to clear your conscience before you meet your maker, you could have written a letter.
Arthur slowly lowered his hands. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He reached into his battered leather satchel one final time. He bypassed the stacks of old Polaroid photos and pulled out a thick, heavy manila envelope sealed with red wax.
I didn't just come to clear my conscience, Jaxon, Arthur said, sliding the heavy envelope across the checkered table. I came to settle a debt. Jaxon looked down at the bulky manila envelope, then back up at Arthur.
He didn't touch it. What is this? After the accident, Arthur began, his voice gaining a desperate strength. The McMillan Steel Foundry tried to sweep the whole thing under the rug. They blamed the structural collapse on a localized earthquake tremor.
They paid off the safety inspectors. They denied your mother the full pension, claiming your father was in an unauthorized zone. Jaxon's fists clenched. He remembered the eviction notices.
He remembered the look of hollow despair in his mother's eyes as the bank took their small home in Detroit. I couldn't let them get away with it, Arthur continued. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat.
Though I turned state's evidence, I took all my original safety reports, the ones management forced me to override, and I went to the Federal Labor Board. I sued the very company I worked for, using my own negligence as the weapon to tear them down.
Jaxon’s eyes widened slightly. This was a piece of the puzzle he had never known. The streets had taught him that the rich always won, and the poor always bled. It took six years of litigation.
Arthur coughed, a dry rattling sound deep in his chest. I lost my career, my reputation. The court found the company grossly negligent, but by the time the settlement was finalized, your mother had passed away, and you had vanished into the foster system.