The men broke the handshake and Seven followed Walter behind the antique door. They proceeded down a hallway up the stairwell and ended the journey at another aged, wooden door.
Walter’s office overlooked the perfectly manicured front lawn. The walls proudly displayed the accomplishments of a well-educated man. He was a thin middle-aged man. His hairline had receded over the years, leaving only a small peninsula of hair in the center of his forehead surrounded by a sea of shiny baldness. His thick bushy mustache extended over his top lip. It appeared as though Walter Griffin was trying to desperately hold on to every follicle he had left. He sank his thin frame into the leather chair behind his cluttered desk. He opened the desk drawer on his right side and removed a thick file folder. He pulled out the file without much of a search; Seven assumed that the drawer housed something not to be mixed in with other “ordinary” paperwork. He placed the file in the center of the desk and covered it with his arms.
“To be honest, Seven, I wasn’t aware that Gilbert had a son. Do you mind if I ask why you haven’t been here before?”
“Well, Doctor Griffin, up until about two weeks ago I was under the impression that my father was dead.”
“Please call me Walter, and please tell me more about what you know of your father,” he said as his mustache danced about his face.
“My mother died shortly after I was born. I was raised by my grandparents in Thomasville, Georgia. For as long as I can remember I was told that my father was killed in a vehicle accident before I was born. My grandparents told me plenty about my mother, but they never spoke much about my father. I was recently discharged from the navy after a helicopter accident where I lost my right leg. I came home and found these letters that were sent to me from my father from here at the hospital. My grandfather passed away before I could talk to him about it. I asked my grandmother about it, and she