Chapter 6: The President Who Never Existed
Rebecca Bennett was still alive when the ambulance reached the cemetery.
Barely.
The paramedics loaded her onto a stretcher while Officer Price arrived with two patrol cars and a detective from the county's major crimes unit.
Marcus stood beside the SUV, his hands stained with blood.
Raymond paced near the cemetery gate, furious that the shooter had escaped.
"How did they know we were here?"" Raymond demanded.
Marcus didn't answer.
He was looking at his phone.
The photograph Daniel had sent him was still open on the screen.
A man in an Iron Kings vest.
A blue house.
Two children who had spent the night in a freezing car.
And now Rebecca had been shot after telling him that the club's founder was alive.
The Iron Kings had been established in 1978 by a man named Arthur "King" Mercer.
Arthur had disappeared in 1992.
According to the club's official history, he had died during a solo motorcycle trip through the Appalachian Mountains. His body had never been recovered, but a damaged motorcycle had been found near a ravine.
Tank had become president after Arthur's disappearance.
Marcus had inherited the position after Tank's supposed death.
For decades, the story had been accepted without question.
Now Marcus wondered how many other things the club had accepted simply because the right person had told them to.
Officer Price approached him.
"Rebecca's being taken to St. Mary's. The paramedics think she has a chance.""
"Did she tell you anything before they loaded her?""
Price nodded.
"She said someone called her from a number associated with a motel on Route 9. She believed Daniel was being held there.""
"Was she going to meet him?""
"She wouldn't say.""
Marcus looked toward the open grave.
"She also said Arthur Mercer is alive.""
Price's expression tightened.
"Arthur Mercer?""
"You know the name?""
"I've seen it in several old reports. He was connected to a criminal investigation involving stolen motorcycles and a missing witness.""
Marcus's mouth went dry.
"What witness?""
Price glanced toward the other officers.
Then he lowered his voice.
"A woman named Evelyn Bennett.""
Marcus frowned.
"Daniel's mother?""
"That's what the records suggest.""
"What happened to her?""
"She disappeared in 2009. Her case was never solved.""
Marcus looked at the metal identification tag again.
Daniel Bennett's name.
Tank's grave.
A missing mother.
A supposedly dead founder.
The pieces didn't fit.
But they were beginning to form a picture he didn't want to see.
"Price," Marcus said, "I need copies of every report connected to Arthur Mercer, Thomas Callahan, and Daniel Bennett.""
"I can request them.""
"I need them tonight.""
"That's not how records access works.""
Marcus took a step closer.
"Someone just shot a woman in a cemetery because she was trying to tell me the truth. Two children are in a hospital because someone abandoned them in a freezing car. And a missing man has been sending me messages from a phone that shouldn't exist.""
Price held his gaze.
"I understand.""
"Do you?""
The officer's jaw tightened.
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a folded document.
"I brought this from the station.""
Marcus took it.
It was a photocopy of an incident report dated December 14, 2009.
The day Tank supposedly died.
At the top was the case number.
Below it was a typed summary of the motorcycle crash.
But someone had written a note in red ink across the bottom.
*DO NOT RELEASE THE BODY TO THE FAMILY.*
Marcus stared at the words.
"Who wrote this?""
Price shook his head.
"Unknown. The original file is missing.""
"Who approved the burial?""
"The report lists Sergeant Harlan.""
Marcus felt a cold anger spread through him.
Harlan had been the officer who insisted the body was too badly burned for identification.
Harlan had told the club not to interfere.
Harlan had stood beside Marcus at the funeral.
And now his name appeared on a document ordering the body not to be released.
"Find Harlan," Marcus said.
Price nodded.
"We're already working on it.""
Marcus folded the report and put it inside his jacket.
Then he turned toward Raymond.
"Take me to the clubhouse.""
Raymond looked surprised.
"What about the hospital?""
"Denise is with the kids. Price has officers there. We need to find out whether anyone in our club knew about this.""
"You think one of our own is involved?""
"I think somebody has been lying to us for seventeen years.""
Raymond's face hardened.
"Then let's find out who.""
The Iron Kings clubhouse occupied a converted warehouse on the edge of Millbrook.
By the time Marcus and Raymond arrived, more than thirty members had gathered inside.
The room smelled of motor oil, stale beer, and wet leather. Motorcycle helmets lined the shelves behind the bar. Old photographs covered the walls, documenting nearly five decades of rides, charity events, funerals, and victories.
At the center of the largest photograph stood Arthur Mercer.
He wore a black leather vest and a silver ring with a dark stone.
Marcus stared at the ring.
The same ring Noah had described.
A member named Eddie Brooks approached.
"Boss, what's happening? Raymond said someone got shot.""
"Rebecca Bennett," Marcus answered.
Eddie's face changed.
"You found Rebecca?""
"Yes.""
"Is she alive?""
"For now.""
Eddie looked toward the photograph on the wall.
Then he quickly looked away.
Marcus noticed.
"Eddie.""
"Yeah?""
"When was the last time you saw that photograph?""
Eddie swallowed.
"Years ago.""
"Did you know Arthur Mercer?""
"Not personally.""
"Did you ever hear rumors that he was alive?""
Eddie hesitated.
"Rumors are rumors.""
Marcus stepped closer.
"Answer the question.""
Eddie's shoulders sagged.
"Yes.""
A murmur moved through the room.
Marcus turned toward the assembled bikers.
"Everyone listen up. I'm going to ask a few questions, and nobody leaves until I've finished.""
A man near the bar scoffed.
"What's this, Marcus? We in school now?""
Marcus looked at him.
The man stopped smiling.
"Seventeen years ago, Thomas Callahan supposedly died in a motorcycle crash," Marcus said.
"Tonight, I received evidence that his death may have been faked. We also found Daniel Bennett's identification tag buried beside Tank's grave.""
The room erupted.
"That's impossible.""
"Who the hell would do that?""
"Tank's dead. I saw the coffin.""
Marcus raised his voice.
"Enough!""
The noise stopped.
"Someone shot Rebecca Bennett tonight. Before she lost consciousness, she told me Arthur Mercer is alive.""
The room fell silent.
Then an older biker named Salvatore "Sal" Russo slowly stood from a chair near the fireplace.
At sixty-eight, Sal was one of the last surviving members who had ridden with Arthur himself.
"Marcus," Sal said, "you need to stop digging.""
Marcus turned toward him.
"Why?""
"Because some things were buried for a reason.""
"That's not an answer.""
Sal's face looked suddenly old.
"Arthur wasn't the kind of man who disappeared because he wanted peace. He disappeared because he was afraid.""
"Afraid of whom?""
Sal glanced toward the photograph.
"Thomas Callahan.""
Marcus felt the room tilt.
"Tank?""
Sal nodded.
"Arthur believed Tank was going to expose him. There was money missing from the club. People were disappearing.
Witnesses were changing their stories. Arthur said Tank had gone too far.""
Marcus shook his head.
"Tank was the most loyal man I ever knew.""
"That's what he wanted you to believe.""
Marcus stepped forward.
"You're telling me Tank was a criminal?""
"I'm telling you he wasn't innocent.""
Sal reached into his pocket and pulled out an old brass key.
He placed it on the table.
"Three days before the crash, Tank gave me this. He told me if anything happened to him, I was to give it to the next president.""
Marcus stared at the key.
"Why didn't you give it to me?""
"Because I thought he was dead.""
"And now?""
Sal's eyes filled with something Marcus couldn't identify.
Fear, perhaps.
Or shame.
"Now I think he knew he was going to disappear.""
Marcus picked up the key.
"What does it open?""
Sal looked directly at him.
"Arthur Mercer's old office. The one beneath the original clubhouse.""
Marcus frowned.
"The original clubhouse was demolished.""
"The building was demolished," Sal corrected.
"The basement wasn't.""
Before Marcus could ask another question, the clubhouse lights went out.
Someone shouted.
A chair scraped across the floor.
Then the emergency lights flickered on, bathing the room in red.
Marcus heard footsteps behind him.
He turned just as a man lunged from the shadows.
Raymond tackled the attacker into a table.
Glass shattered.
The man struggled, swinging wildly, but Raymond pinned him against the floor.
"Marcus!"" Raymond shouted.
"I've got him!""
Marcus moved in.
The attacker wore an Iron Kings vest.
His face was hidden beneath a black motorcycle helmet.
Marcus grabbed the helmet and pulled it off.
The man was in his late twenties, with a fresh scar running along his jaw.
Marcus had never seen him before.
But the patch on the man's vest was unmistakable.
He wasn't wearing the patch of a regular club member.
He was wearing the old president's insignia.
Arthur Mercer's crown.
Marcus grabbed him by the collar.
"Who sent you?""
The man laughed.
"You shouldn't have gone to the cemetery.""
"Who sent you?""
The man looked past Marcus toward Sal.
Then he said three words that drained the color from the older biker's face.
"Ask your mother.""
Marcus released him slightly.
"What did you say?""
The man smiled.
"Arthur said you'd understand.""
Marcus's pulse hammered.
"My mother has been dead for twelve years.""
The man leaned closer.
"Then why did she call Arthur yesterday?""
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Marcus felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath his feet.
His mother had died after a long illness. He had held her hand in a hospital room while she took her final breath. He had attended her funeral, chosen her headstone, and visited her grave every Mother's Day since.
He knew she was dead.
He knew it.
But the man beneath Raymond's grip was looking at him with absolute certainty.
"You're lying," Marcus whispered.
The man shrugged.
"Maybe.""
Then his smile widened.
"But if I'm lying, why did Arthur tell me to give you this?""
He reached into his pocket and tossed a small envelope onto the floor.
Marcus picked it up.
His name was written on the front in familiar handwriting.
His mother's handwriting.
Inside was a photograph of a woman standing beside Arthur Mercer.
She looked older than Marcus remembered, with silver threaded through her dark hair.
But it was unmistakably his mother.
On the back, someone had written a date.
*October 22, 2026.*
Yesterday.
Beneath it were eight words.
*Marcus must never learn who his father was.*
Marcus stared at the photograph.
For seventeen years, he'd believed the Iron Kings' darkest secret concerned a dead man and a missing father.
Now he was beginning to understand that the secret had been buried much closer to home.
And somewhere, a man who should have been dead was waiting for him beneath the ruins of the original clubhouse.
A man who knew the truth about Tank.
May you like
A man who had spoken to Marcus's mother yesterday.
A man who might be Marcus's father.
