Chapter 7
COLE
The security footage plays across multiple monitors in The Forge's surveillance room, timestamp showing the breach happened hours ago while we were riding north to the memorial.
Someone bypassed the upgraded cameras, disabled the motion sensors at the rear entrance, and spent time photographing the main floor before leaving a message I'm still processing.
The main floor sits empty now in the dim security lighting.
A St. Andrew's cross stands against the far wall, suspension rigging overhead, padded benches and equipment arranged with the precision that comes from years of establishing a safe space.
The lower level holds private rooms, each designed for privacy and consent, each equipped with its own safety protocols and emergency releases.
All of it utterly damning if it goes public during a federal investigation.
I rewind the footage again, studying the intruder's movement. Efficient and tactical. How they clear corners and check sight lines speaks to training most civilians don't have. They knew exactly what they were looking for, exactly what would cause maximum damage if exposed.
The message left on the St. Andrew's cross is photographed clearly: "Back off or this goes public."
This isn't random vandalism or opportunistic theft. Someone knows what The Forge is, knows the vulnerability it represents, and is using it as leverage to stop the investigation.
Which means whoever's running the weapons operation understands exactly how to apply pressure where it hurts most.
The back door opens, and I register Will's presence before he speaks. Years of operating together means I recognize his footsteps, how he moves through space.
"How bad?" he asks.
I pull up the photograph of the message. "They got everything. Main floor equipment, the crosses, the rigging. Enough to make it look like something criminal instead of what it actually is."
Will leans against the desk, studying the monitors. His jaw tightens as he processes what this means. "If ATF finds out during an active investigation, they'll assume the worst. Think we're running something illegal here, that the weapons trafficking and The Forge are connected."
"Destroys our legitimacy overnight," I say. "Everything we've built, every veteran we've helped find purpose after service, every person who uses this space safely—all of it gets painted with the same criminal brush."
"Options?" Will's voice stays level, but I hear the edge underneath. President mode, assessing threats and planning responses.
"Shut it down temporarily. Looks guilty, admits vulnerability, but removes the immediate leverage.
" I pull up the next set of footage, watching the intruder's exit route.
"Increase security beyond what we've already done.
Might slow them down, but if they got through once, they can do it again.
" I pause, weighing the option I've been avoiding.
"Or we trust Monroe with the truth before someone else controls the narrative. "
Will's silent for a long moment. When he speaks, his tone is careful. "Some feds can be worked with. If she understands what this actually is, understands the difference between legitimate lifestyle and criminal operation, she might be the ally we need."
"Or she uses it against us. Adds it to her case file as evidence of moral corruption, leverage for pressuring cooperation, proof that we're exactly what she suspects.
" I zoom in on the intruder's face, but they're wearing a balaclava and avoiding direct camera angles.
Professional work. "I don't trust anyone outside the Brotherhood. "
"You trusted your Delta Force teams."
"That was different. Shared objectives, mutual survival, chain of command." I close the footage window and pull up the operator's movement pattern mapped against the floor plan. "This is federal law enforcement investigating whether we're criminals. Different stakes."
Will studies the pattern, recognition crossing his expression. "That movement. How they clear corners, check angles, position themselves. That's not civilian training."
"Military background, probably spec ops level." I've been trying not to see it, but the evidence is clear. "Confirms whoever's running this operation has serious training."
"Any leads on who?"
"I've been digging into the gun show circuit, cross-referencing vendors with military backgrounds.
" I pull up the notes I compiled last night.
"Found a name that keeps appearing in the background chatter.
Alan Kline—or someone using that name. Supposed dishonorable discharge from Special Forces, but I can't verify if the rumors are real or just a fabricated cover story.
Disappeared into private security work, then dropped off the grid about two years ago. "
"You think he's connected?"
"Maybe. The discharge is public record—or what looks like public record.
Could be real. Could be a cover identity.
" I tap the screen. "Word in veteran networks is someone with that background specialized in weapons modifications during deployment.
Ran side deals, got caught, took a discharge to avoid court-martial.
But nobody I've talked to has actually met him.
It's all secondhand, thirdhand information.
Could be our guy. Could be a name someone's hiding behind.
Could be completely unrelated and we're chasing shadows. "
Will reads through what I've found, expression darkening. "If this is real, and if he's our guy, the operation is more sophisticated than we thought. Building a distribution network, using legitimate fronts like our shop, applying military tactics to criminal enterprise."
"And now someone's threatening The Forge to force us to stop cooperating with ATF.
" I close the notes. "Which means whoever's running this—Kline or not—knows Monroe's getting close to something, knows we're helping her investigation, and wants us to back off before she finds whatever they're hiding. "
"We can't stop."
"No." I stand, checking the security feeds one more time. The Forge sits quiet and empty, waiting. "But we need to make a choice about Monroe before whoever's behind this makes it for us."
Will heads for the door, then pauses. "She followed you here, didn't she? Saw you come in after the memorial ride."
I don't ask how he knows. Will reads people the way I read tactical situations. "Probably waiting outside for you to leave so she can confront me without backup or witnesses. Smart play."
"What are you going to tell her?"
"Haven't decided yet." The truth, because lying to Will serves no purpose.
"Part of me wants to shut her out, protect the Brotherhood by maintaining operational security.
Part of me knows whoever's behind this is escalating, and we might need federal resources to stop them before someone gets killed. "
"And the other part?" Will's tone suggests he already knows the answer.
"The other part wants to see what happens when I let someone capable past the walls." I meet his gaze. "She's either the threat that destroys everything or the only person strong enough to handle what's underneath the VP polish."
"For what it's worth, I think you should trust her.
" Will pulls the door open. "Not because she's federal law enforcement, but because she survived years undercover with the Devils and still has enough humanity left to see the difference between criminals and veterans trying to build something legitimate. "
He leaves before I can respond, footsteps fading down the hallway toward the exit.
I'm alone in The Forge with monitors showing empty rooms and a decision that's going to determine whether the Brotherhood survives this investigation intact or burns because I made the wrong call.
Running on minimal sleep affects reaction time.
Degrades decision-making. Makes mistakes more likely when mistakes could cost everything.
Time spent managing security upgrades, financial records, ghost orders investigation, and now the breach.
All while maintaining the VP facade, keeping Brothers calm, and dealing with the federal agent who sees through the operational layers I've constructed.
I could keep playing this defensively. Could maintain operational security, refuse Monroe access, force her to get warrants and subpoenas for every piece of information. Could protect The Forge by keeping it hidden and hoping whoever's behind this doesn't follow through on their threat.
Or I could make a different choice.
The type that either ends with the Brotherhood destroyed or with an ally who understands exactly what we're protecting and why it matters.
Footsteps pause on the pathway outside. Lighter than Will's, more cautious, the careful approach of someone who knows they're about to cross a line.
Monroe.
I pull up the exterior camera feed and watch her position herself near the entrance, out of direct sight line but close enough to intercept when I exit. She's in professional mode, but something about her body language reads differently than the controlled federal agent who served the warrant.
The decision crystallizes. Not because I trust her completely, not because federal cooperation serves our interests strategically, but because I'm done carrying everything alone and she might be the only person outside the Brotherhood who can handle the truth without exploiting it.
I shut down the monitors, lock the surveillance room, and head for the main entrance.
She straightens when I step outside. Careful positioning, professional awareness, but not aggressive. "We need to talk."
"You followed me from the bar." Statement, not question. "Smart tactical decision. Wait for Will to leave, confront me when I'm alone and possibly off-balance."