“But you have facts worth hearing.”
The next forty-eight hours became paperwork.
Background checks.
Records requests.
Statements.
Calls.
Gregory locked certain areas of his property according to instructions.
Medications were secured.
The spare bedroom became Sky’s room instead of “the room where junk goes.”
Lucy bought sheets.
Gregory complained about the color.
Sky chose dark blue.
Terry’s wife brought a lamp and refused payment.
Jimmy brought paint supplies.
“Those aren’t for court compliance,” Gregory said.
“No.”
“What are they for?”
“If she’s living there, she needs paint.”
Gregory nodded.
“Fair.”
At the garage, Sky kept working.
The mural became more detailed.
Hollow’s face developed shadows.
Gregory appeared beside him.
Then Terry.
Jimmy.
Lucy near the garage door holding a ledger instead of handlebars.
Sky insisted.
Lucy pretended to be annoyed.
The day before the emergency hearing, child-services workers arrived.
Not storming the building.
Not with police.
Two caseworkers.
Martha was present.
That mattered.
Sky answered questions.
Where had she slept?
Had anyone touched her inappropriately?
Threatened her?
Given her alcohol?
Allowed her around dangerous equipment without supervision?
Did she understand what Iron Jaws was?
Did she feel pressured to stay?
Sky became irritated.
Martha reminded her quietly:
“They need to ask.”
Sky answered.
The caseworkers inspected Gregory’s home.
They did not approve the motorcycle club.
They evaluated Gregory.
That distinction became central.
One caseworker, Denise Harper, looked at Gregory’s old record.
“Disorderly conduct.”
“Thirty-two years ago.”
“Two counts.”
“Bad weekend.”
Martha closed her eyes.
Gregory added:
“I was twenty-nine.”
Denise looked at him.
“Anything since?”
“Traffic tickets.”
“Violent offenses?”
“No.”
“Substance-related convictions?”
“No.”
“Current illegal activity?”
“No.”
“Firearms?”
“Legally owned. Secured as required.”
“Employment?”
Gregory owned the garage property through a small corporation and had legitimate income from motorcycle repair and restoration.
The caseworker documented everything.
She also interviewed Terry.
Then Lucy.
Then Jimmy.
Finally Sky.
Alone.
When Sky emerged, Gregory stood.
She looked exhausted.
“What happened?”
“They asked if you scare me.”
Gregory’s face tightened.
“What’d you say?”
“Yes.”
His expression fell.
Sky smiled faintly.
“Then I said mostly when you sing.”
Lucy laughed so hard she had to sit down.
The hearing took place in a small county family courtroom.
No television cameras.
No biker convoy.
Martha had been explicit.
“This is a child-welfare hearing, not a club rally.”
Gregory wore a clean button-down shirt.
Terry sat behind him.
Lucy beside Sky.
Jimmy remained at the garage.
Sky wore black jeans and a simple blouse Lucy bought her.
Her sketchbook rested beneath one hand.
The state did not portray Gregory as a monster.
That made the hearing harder, not easier.
Its attorney argued caution.
Sky had absconded from state-contracted care.