When Alvin walked out to his car, his brother intercepted him by the porch.

“Don’t sign it, Alvin,” Derek whispered, glancing over his shoulder nervously.

Alvin stopped.

“Why?” “Because there are things you don’t know.” “I’ve been hearing that all week, Derek.” Derek looked toward the house, and shame was written plainly across his features.

“Meet me at Dad’s old workshop at four o’clock,” he said.

When Derek arrived at the dusty workshop that afternoon, he spent the first ten minutes on excuses, on grievances, on the old resentments of the brother who stayed.

Alvin had moved away to build a wealthy life in New York, he said, while Derek stayed behind; it was easy to send money from a corporate office and play the hero.