He told himself the police would obtain what they needed through official channels.
He told himself he wasn't obligated to share unverified rumors.
But deep down, he knew he was protecting more than a friend's reputation.
He was protecting the picture of the Iron Ravens he'd built inside his own mind.
If Rook had taken money meant for sick children, what did that say about the man Hammer trusted with the club's finances?
And what did it say about Hammer himself?
He wasn't ready to answer.
So he remained silent.
Then Rook came to him two nights later.
The older biker entered the clubhouse after everyone else had gone.
He carried a bottle of whiskey and looked unusually tired.
Hammer was sitting at the workbench, repairing an old carburetor.
Rook placed the bottle beside him.
“We need to talk.”
Hammer looked up.
“About Emma Bennett?”
Rook's expression changed.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Rook nodded.
“Terrible thing.”
Hammer watched him.
“Yes.”
“She was asking questions that upset a lot of people.”
The words made Hammer's hands stop moving.
He looked toward his friend.
“What does that mean?”
Rook shrugged.
“Means there were contractors losing patience with her accusations.”
Hammer stared.
“She wasn't accusing anybody without records.”
Rook's jaw tightened.
“You don't know the whole story.”
“Then tell me.”
For several seconds, Rook remained silent.
Then he took a drink.
“I'm trying to keep the charity alive, Henry.”
Hammer stiffened.
Rook rarely used his given name.
Only when he wanted to remind him how long they'd known each other.
He continued.
“Bad publicity could destroy everything we built. The children's garden. The hospital partnership. The club's reputation.”
Hammer looked toward the bottle.
Then back.
“Did you do something wrong with the money?”
Rook stared.
The question hung between them.
Finally, he answered.
“No.”
Hammer studied him.
Then asked, “Did you see Emma that night?”
Rook's expression hardened.
“Do you think I attacked a woman in a parking garage?”
Hammer didn't answer immediately.
The silence wounded Rook's pride.
He stood.
“After thirty years?”
Hammer looked down.
Rook continued.
“I stood beside you when Benjamin died.”
The words struck hard.
Hammer closed his eyes.
Rook's voice softened.
“I loved that boy too.”
For a moment, Hammer couldn't speak.
Then his friend placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Trust me.”
Hammer nodded.
And that was the decision that would eventually haunt him more than any shouting match, any fight, or any mistake he'd made as a young man.