gift became something darker, and Michael began telling anyone who listened that Luther had forced his brother off the road before crashing himself. There were no witnesses to such a confrontation, no matching damage, and no shared route supported by the available records. To Michael, the absence of proof merely became proof that someone had hidden the truth.
For a time his anger had been public. He had appeared at a county meeting, confronted riders outside a funeral home, and left threatening messages on a garage answering machine. Gregory remembered every one. Then, after months of shouting, Michael had grown quiet. He started a transportation brokerage, moved his business to the neighboring county, and stopped showing up where Iron Jaws members could see him. Gregory had mistaken that silence for grief finally exhausted by time.
Lucy spread the available correspondence across the office desk. The law firm's original inquiry asked about the club's disciplinary history, possible criminal activity by its members, and whether a member of the club could provide a suitable home for a minor. Those were questions a court-appointed evaluator might legitimately consider when investigating a prospective caregiver. What disturbed Lucy was that the inquiry seemed to have been financed by a third party with no obvious standing in Sky's custody matter. The name Michael Ventry appeared in a later email about payment, not in any document identifying him as a guardian or relative.
"We need to know what he actually did," Lucy said. "If the law firm collected public information, that's different from inventing allegations. And if he interfered with the case, we still need a way to prove it." Gregory tapped the email with one finger.
"He hated Hollow," he said. "He hated him enough to make a child pay?" Jeff asked. Nobody answered immediately, because the question was too ugly for a confident answer.
Terry joined them, listened, and advised against confronting Michael. "We don't even know where he is," he said. "And if he really is involved, all he'd have to do is record one angry call from you and take it straight to the people already suspicious of this club." Gregory rubbed the back of his neck.
He could feel every old argument he had ever lost by raising his voice. "Then we document," he said. Lucy nodded. "And we get somebody who understands how to use what we document."
The lawyer Terry recommended was Martha Clark, a family-law attorney who had represented both foster parents and children needing protective orders. She practiced in a modest office above a pharmacy, drove an ordinary sedan, and had no interest in appearing dramatic. During their first call she asked whether Sky had spoken to a youth services worker, whether the garage had permitted unsupervised contact with unrelated adults, and whether anybody had tried to hide the child's location. Terry answered each question, relieved for once that doing the slower thing had given him answers he could stand behind.