The clubhouse occupied a converted repair warehouse on the outskirts of town, with red brick walls, heavy wooden tables, and shelves filled with motorcycle parts. Photographs covered the walls: charity rides, memorial events, weddings, and old snapshots of men who had ridden together long before gray hair appeared beneath their helmets.
Hammer had always loved the room.
It held most of the memories he'd been afraid of losing.
Tonight it felt different.
Twenty-three members gathered around the main table.
Brick sat near the window.
Two younger riders stood beside the door.
And Rook occupied his usual chair beneath the club's enormous silver-and-black emblem.
When Hammer entered, conversation stopped.
He wasn't wearing his leather vest.
That alone was enough to make the room uneasy.
Rook leaned back.
“Well?”
Hammer placed a folder on the table.
“We're going to talk about the children's hospital.”
Rook laughed bitterly.
“Here we go.”
Hammer ignored him.
He explained that Lucy Bennett had identified Rook as the man she remembered from the night her mother was attacked. He was careful to state that the child's recollection was not a conviction, and that investigators would determine what the evidence supported.
Then he described the invoices.
The missing documentation.
The questions he'd refused to answer.
And his own failure to tell the police what he knew.
By the time he finished, several men looked stunned.
One younger rider named Cole Barrett shook his head.
“So you knew there were problems?”
Hammer nodded.
“Yes.”
“And you let us keep raising money?”
“Yes.”
Cole stared.
“Why?”
Hammer looked toward Rook.
Then answered.
“Because I believed I could fix it without anyone finding out.”
The room became silent.
Brick looked down.
Rook folded his arms.
“Wonderful speech.”
Hammer turned.
The older biker continued.
“You going to tell them about the money you signed off on? Or are you making me the villain while you pretend to be a saint?”
Hammer nodded.
“I signed expenditures I should've examined more carefully.”
Several members exchanged glances.
Rook seemed surprised.
Hammer continued.
“I trusted you. I also ignored people who asked reasonable questions. That's on me.”
Rook's expression hardened.
The club president looked around the table.
“Whatever happens in the investigation, our charity accounts are being turned over for independent review. We're suspending new expenditures under the existing arrangement, and no one is to contact the Bennett family about the accusation.”
A rider near the wall raised his hand.
“What about Rook?”
Hammer looked toward his oldest friend.