His father had a small locket made from gold. The clasp was sealed shut by time and he had to pry it open with a prong of a fork, the lids separating like a reluctant clam shell.

Inside were pictures of his parents like he’d never seen them before, young, his father with hair and his mother without wrinkles.

This was all that was left of his father.

Gold locket, faded pictures.

A lifetime spent of backbreaking work, too many children and unrelenting poverty.

Caleb built an empire, burying his father’s legacy deep in the foundation of his first home.