Charles leaned forward, his expression warm and serious. “I think you deserve to know why I’m here.”
Ethan gripped the edge of the table, his heart pounding in his chest.
As Charles smiled at him, the worst-case scenarios began to play out in his mind.
Charles crossed his arms calmly and began to speak.
“That old homeless man you helped in the park, the one with the frozen fingers, his name was Harold. He was my father.”
Ethan blinked, trying to process the words.
“My father wasn’t always homeless,” Charles continued, his voice thick with emotion. “He was a successful philanthropist who donated millions to shelters, hospitals, and schools. But five years ago, his caregiver betrayed him. She stole his money, his ID, his medical records, everything. She left him with nothing, and because he was suffering from early-stage dementia, he couldn’t prove who he was. The system failed him. He ended up on the streets with no way to get help.”
Ethan felt a lump in his throat. He thought of the old man’s kind eyes, of how he always nodded gratefully when Ethan left blankets.
“My family searched for him for years,” Charles said quietly. “We hired investigators, filed police reports, and sent out fliers. We kept looking. Just three weeks ago, the police finally found him. He collapsed in a park, and someone called an ambulance. They were able to identify him through old dental records.”
Tears filled Charles’ eyes. “But by the time we got to the hospital, it was too late. He died the next day.”
Ethan’s chest ached. “I’m so sorry.”
Charles nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “When the police found his belongings, they found a little notebook he had with him. It was full of stories about you. He called you ‘a mysterious, good man.’ He wrote about every blanket and meal you left him. He wrote that you made him feel human again when the world forgot he existed.”
Ethan couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They rolled down his cheeks as he covered his face with his hands.
Charles reached into his briefcase and pulled out several papers, carefully placing them one by one on the table.
“My father left very specific instructions in his will,” Charles said. “He wrote, ‘Find the man who saved me. Give him the chance in life he gave me.’”
