But only one of them had been a father.
Samuel looked toward the staircase.
"Ethan needs to know."
Hawk nodded.
"Yes."
Samuel took a step toward the stairs, then stopped.
"I need to tell him something first."
He climbed slowly, one hand gripping the railing.
Ethan sat on his bed with his backpack beside him. He had taken off his shoes and arranged them neatly against the wall.
A small photograph rested on his lap.
It showed Daniel holding him as a baby.
Ethan looked up when his grandfather entered.
"Are they still here?"
"Yes."
"Are you angry with them?"
Samuel sat on the edge of the bed.
"No."
Ethan studied his face.
"Are you angry with Dad?"
Samuel's chest tightened.
For years, he had allowed that question to remain unanswered.
Now he understood that every silence had been a kind of answer.
"No," he said. "I was angry with him once. I thought he had done something terrible."
Ethan looked down at the photograph.
"What did he do?"
Samuel swallowed.
"I believed he had stolen money from the people he loved. I believed he had brought shame on his friends and our family."
"Did he?"
"No."
The answer came out with a force that surprised them both.
Samuel reached for Ethan's hand.
"No, son. He didn't."
Ethan's eyes filled with tears.
"Then why did you say those things about him?"
Samuel felt the question like a blade.
"Because I was wrong."
"But you told me Dad made mistakes."
"He did."
"You said he left us with problems."
Samuel closed his eyes.
"That was wrong too."
Ethan pulled his hand away.
For the first time that evening, his expression hardened.
"You said Dad didn't care about us."
Samuel's breath caught.
He remembered the words.
He had said them after Daniel's funeral, when Ethan was too young to understand why his mother cried at night.
He had said them because he was angry.
He had said them because grief had made him cruel.
And he had said them because he could not bear to admit that he had driven his son away.
"I know," Samuel whispered.
Ethan looked at him with wet eyes.
"Was that a lie?"
Samuel struggled to speak.
"Yes."
The boy turned toward the wall.
Samuel reached for him, then stopped.
He had no right to demand comfort from a child whose trust he had damaged.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Ethan remained silent.
Samuel sat beside him until the room grew dark.
He did not offer excuses.
He did not tell Ethan that he had been under pressure or that he had been frightened or that he had never intended to cause harm.
He simply stayed.
After a long time, Ethan spoke.
"Did Dad love me?"
Samuel's eyes filled with tears.
"More than anything."
"How do you know?"
"Because I saw it."
Samuel looked at the photograph.
"Your father used to come home from work and sit on the floor with you, even when he was too tired to stand. He learned how to make those silly paper animals you liked. He carried you around the house when you were sick, and he sang to you even though he couldn't sing in tune."
A faint smile touched Ethan's face.
"Grandma said Dad couldn't sing."
Samuel laughed softly through his tears.
"Your grandmother used to tell him the same thing."
For the first time that evening, Ethan leaned against him.
Samuel wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders.
They remained that way for several minutes.
Then Ethan asked, "Will you tell me the rest?"
Samuel nodded.
"All of it."
They went downstairs together.
The riders were waiting quietly in the kitchen and living room.
Hawk stood when Ethan entered.
The boy looked at the papers spread across the table.
"Did my dad steal the money?"
Hawk shook his head.
"No, son."
Ethan turned toward Samuel.
"Grandpa?"
Samuel looked at him.
"No. Your father was trying to protect the money. He was trying to protect the people who needed it."
Ethan took a slow breath.
"Then why did everybody think he was bad?"
Hawk pulled out a chair.
"Because sometimes the truth gets buried beneath paperwork, rumors, fear, and people's mistakes. And sometimes the people who should know better are too afraid to admit they were wrong."
Ethan sat down.
"Are you going to find out what happened?"
Hawk looked at the other men.
"We're going to do everything we can."
Samuel sat beside his grandson.
Then, for the first time in thirty years, he began telling the story of Daniel Miller without changing the ending to make himself feel better.
He told Ethan about the warehouse fire.
He told him about the relief fund.
He told him about the missing money and the investigation.
He admitted that he had signed documents he did not understand.
He confessed that he had believed the worst about his son.
And he explained how Daniel had come home that night, exhausted and injured, asking his father to trust him.
"I didn't," Samuel whispered.