Then Lily's illness.
Arthur listened without interrupting.
When Michael finished, the old man asked:
"Why didn't you ask me for help?"
Michael looked at him.
"I didn't think you would remember me."
Arthur stared at him.
"I remembered your name."
Michael looked down at his daughter.
"I didn't want charity."
Arthur smiled.
"Neither did I."
Michael looked up.
"What?"
Arthur leaned back.
"Thirty-eight years ago, I was sleeping behind a bakery."
Michael stared.
"You?"
Arthur nodded.
"I had twelve dollars."
He smiled faintly.
"And I was too proud to ask for help."
"What happened?"
"A baker gave me yesterday's bread."
Michael smiled.
Arthur's eyes became distant.
"That bread kept me alive for three days."
Michael was silent.
Arthur looked at him.
"That's why I built this hotel."
Michael frowned.
"Because of bread?"
"No."
Arthur shook his head.
"Because I never forgot the feeling of being hungry while everyone around you was pretending not to see."
Michael looked toward Lily.
Arthur continued.
"I promised myself that if I ever became wealthy, no hungry person would ever have to beg inside one of my buildings."
Michael glanced toward the bakery counter.
"Then why did she refuse?"
Arthur didn't answer immediately.
He looked at the manager.
"That's a question for me to investigate."
The manager's face changed.
"Mr. Whitmore—"
Arthur stood.
"Get me the security footage from the last thirty days."
"Sir?"
"All of it."
He looked at Michael.
"And don't throw away another piece of food tonight."
The manager nodded quickly.
Arthur turned back to Michael.
"Stay here."
Michael shook his head.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"I need to find work."
Arthur smiled.
"Perhaps you just found some."
Arthur took Michael into the hotel kitchen.
The staff became silent.
Michael hadn't been inside in six years.
Some faces were familiar.
Others were new.
He looked at the ovens.
The preparation tables.
The huge refrigerators.
Everything felt strangely familiar.
Arthur walked toward the head chef.
"Chef?"
"Yes, Mr. Whitmore?"
"Do you remember Michael?"
The chef looked at him.
Then smiled.
"Of course."
Michael nodded.
The chef was an older man named Thomas.
He had trained under Michael years ago.
"You taught me how to make the dinner rolls."