Frank had never been particularly kind to customers who looked poor.
He believed every seat occupied by someone without money represented a paying customer he might lose. During winter, he frequently ordered employees to lock the side entrance, fearing that people from the nearby shelter would come inside seeking warmth.
Emily had argued with him about it before.
But this time, the argument became public.
"Those men haven't ordered anything," Frank announced, pointing toward the veterans.
"They have two bowls of soup," Emily answered.
"Who authorized that?"
"I did."
Frank stepped closer.
"Then you're paying for both."
Emily removed the ten-dollar bill from her apron.
Frank snatched it from her hand.
"That doesn't cover everything. What about the bread? The coffee? The time you're wasting?"
A retired schoolteacher sitting nearby lowered her newspaper.
"Frank, they're elderly. Can't you show a little compassion?"
"Mind your business, Margaret."
The diner fell silent.
Thomas slowly looked up from his soup.
"Young man," he said, "you don't have to humiliate anyone on our account."
Frank turned toward him.
"Then maybe you shouldn't come into places you can't afford."
Walter began to rise, but Thomas gently touched his sleeve.
"No need."
He looked back at Emily.
"Your kindness is appreciated, miss."
Emily tried to smile, although her eyes were wet.
"I'm sorry about this."
Thomas studied her name tag once again.
"Carter. Were you born around Pittsburgh?"
Emily nodded.
"Near McKeesport."
Thomas's expression tightened.
"Did your father work at a transportation depot?"
Her smile disappeared.
"Yes."
"Daniel Carter?"
The restaurant seemed to become very quiet.
Emily gripped the back of the booth.
"How do you know my father?"
Thomas reached slowly into a weathered leather satchel.
He removed a photograph showing six men standing beside a delivery truck.
One of those men was Daniel Carter.
Emily recognized him immediately.
But what frightened her was the man standing beside him.
It was Frank's father.