Ten years, and he'd never known. It wasn't any great personal loss; Morgan could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen his uncle, but the Bletchleys' disappearance had been a family mystery for ages, and his own father had been fond of Michael. The news was likely to be devastating. Not that Morgan would be telling Malachi the news... or anything else, for that matter.
The waitress came back with their drinks. Morgan took a sip of water. Clearly, there were things Miles was holding back, but that was understandable. They all had secrets. "Someday you'll have to tell me all about it. I've only been in the south of the States." He took another drink, but this one was stalling, really. "If the money truly doesn't matter to you, and I do suspect it might be gone by now into the Ministry coffers, my advice would be this: find a way back to the States and build your life there. I can't say I'd be happy to see you go, but it might be --" He hesitated. This was a Muggle place, and it was unlikely that unfriendly ears would be listening in. Still. "Safer for you, which is the important thing."