His phone buzzed.
A text from Marlene.
She’s nervous, but ready. Stayed up half the night practicing what she wants to say. I’ve never seen her this determined about anything.
Garrett typed back.
She’s the bravest person I know.
Marlene responded almost immediately.
She says the same thing about you.
Garrett set the phone down and looked at the crumpled dollar bill, now framed on his nightstand beside Sadie’s drawing.
Two figures smiling.
“Friends” written above them in careful, childish letters.
Tomorrow would determine whether that friendship survived.
Tomorrow would determine everything.
The Oakland Unified School District board meeting was held in a beige conference room that smelled like industrial cleaner and old coffee.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, unflattering glow.
Rows of folding chairs faced a long table where seven board members sat with varying expressions of boredom and concern.
The room was packed.
Preston Ashworth had done his work well.
Parents filled most of the seats, many clutching printed materials Garrett recognized as Ashworth’s propaganda.
Photos of Garrett at the diner, at the school, near the apartment building.
All innocent moments reframed as sinister through careful captioning and suggestive language.
Garrett sat in the back row with Boulder and Shadow flanking him, both dressed in civilian clothes.
Rebecca Torres sat near the front, ready to speak when their turn came.
Marlene sat in the middle section with Sadie beside her.
The little girl’s blonde hair was neatly brushed, and she wore her best dress, pressed and clean.
Sadie turned and found Garrett’s eyes across the crowded room.
She didn’t smile, but she gave him a small nod.
Ready.
Determined.
Unafraid.
The meeting began with routine business, budget discussions, facility updates, a debate about school lunch programs that seemed to go on forever.
Garrett’s leg bounced with nervous energy.
Boulder put a steadying hand on his knee.
“Patience,” the big man murmured. “Let it play out.”
Finally, the board chair cleared her throat and consulted the agenda.
“We have a community concern item that has generated significant interest. Mr. Preston Ashworth has requested time to address the board regarding student safety.”
Ashworth rose from his seat in the front row.
He was exactly what Shadow had described, expensive suit, silver hair perfectly styled, the confident bearing of a man accustomed to being listened to and obeyed.
He approached the podium with a folder thick with documentation.
“Thank you, Madam Chair, members of the board. I come before you tonight as a concerned parent and a concerned citizen.”
“What I’m about to share with you is deeply troubling, and I believe it requires immediate action to protect the children of our community.”
He opened his folder and began his presentation.
Photos appeared on the room’s screen.
Garrett at Rosy’s Diner with Sadie.
Garrett’s motorcycle in the school parking lot.
Garrett walking near the apartment building in East Oakland.
“This man,” Ashworth said, his voice dripping with practiced concern, “is Garrett Brennan, a member of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club for over two decades.”
“An organization authorities have long associated with serious criminal activity.”
Murmurs rippled through the audience.
“For the past three months, Mr. Brennan has been cultivating a relationship with an eight-year-old student at this school, a vulnerable child, an orphan living with a struggling aunt in one of Oakland’s most dangerous neighborhoods.”
More photos.
More suggestive captions.
Ashworth painted a picture of predatory grooming, of a criminal organization targeting one of the weakest members of the community.