I don't. I only know what you father knows, which is that his family is dead. Knowing otherwise raises several questions.

[The fragrances of the beers mingle as Toby pours them, and he takes a moment to shift the focus of his sense of smell from each in turn, to differentiate their flavors before choosing the first, taking a small sip, making certain to taste the foam as well as the body of the brew. It was a brilliant lager, in all honesty, full-bodied, robust, coating his tongue as he swilled it around his mouth. He raises his eyebrows in surprise.]

Most brilliant, Toby. Nutty, but with a hint of fruit. Smooth yet profound. Your father would be proud.