We watched the screen as Arthur walked past the volunteer desk without stopping.

He did not look at the signs.

He walked directly toward the hallway that led to my department, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets.

“He bypassed the visitor check-in,” Tom said, his brow furrowing.

“Do you know this man, Mara?”

“He is my father,” I said.

The camera showed Arthur returning to the lobby four minutes later, his hands empty.

He did not look back as he walked out into the rain.