Jack exploded.  "THAT BASTARD CALLS HIMSELF MY FATHER?!"  It was fortunate that the only person who might've heard the outburst was the elderly cashier inside the building, but still.  Part of the reason he was travelling the countryside was to find some way, some obscure fact or ceremony, anything, that would let him make the man from all those years ago miserable.  Even one-tenth as miserable as he'd made Yawo.  The letter thus found an extremely non-receptive audience.  Jack took several slow, deep breaths, noting the strange, frosty, alcoholic tang in the air.  He calmed rapidly.  Self-control is important when you've been pulled over for the third time in a single day.  "I'm sorry, but you've been sent on a fool's errand.  If you have a way of contacting the author of this letter, tell him that I have much more important things to do.<em>Fundamental</em>things to do.  He'll know what I mean.  Sooner or later."  He held out the folder again in one slim, dark-skinned hand, waiting barely more than a half-dozen heartbeats before letting go, whether Jack took it or not.  Then he turned and continued towards his car.  The kid didn't deserve to have all that dumped on him.  Better to get out of this place as soon as he could.