The letter explained everything. Walter had mailed a card every birthday, with a check inside, and his son, my father Ronald, had cashed every one. When Walter discovered it, he confronted Ronald, who swore he would never let the old man near me. Walter was too proud and too ill to fight, so he waited, watched from a distance, and rewrote his will. The condition was a safeguard, because Ronald would try to swindle me out of everything.

I sat in that booth and cried for the first time since the night I was thrown out. Gordon let me, then explained the practical side. A bank account in my name already held two months of back pay and expenses. Within the hour, he arranged a small furnished apartment, and a locksmith dropped the key off at the diner. For the first time in twelve days, I slept in a real bed, and I woke up knowing I would do exactly what my grandfather asked.

I started at Mercer Lumber the next Monday, stacking boards in the yard. The employees quickly learned who I was, and a foreman named Helen took me under her wing. By spring, I had worked every department, graduated high school, and taken night classes in accounting. My father showed up once with a folder of papers, smiling, and I handed it to Gordon without opening it. He left without a word.

A year to the day after I took the job, I took over as owner. I paid off the company’s debts, raised the workers’ wages, and set aside a fund for students who age out of homes like mine. Every year on my birthday, I drive to my grandfather’s grave and read him one of the cards he sent. Gordon sits beside me, and we both agree he would have loved the cake.