Frank Matthews’ Tuesday morning coffee was a sacred ritual, a quiet truce with memory and the ghosts of the sea. But when three young men strode in, their arrogance shattered the peace of the small town coffee shop. They saw an old man in a faded hat, not a hero who had faced down titans. The sun was a pale promise, a faint wash of grey thinning to gold on the eastern horizon, when Frank Matthews began his day. The ritual was always the same. He’d stand before the bathroom mirror, the face stari