50 Bikers Surrounded A Rookie Cop At A Gas Station Then Dropped To Their Knees

Ryan felt the ground shift beneath him. His father had never mentioned any of this. Not once.

“We didn’t trust him,” Walt admitted. “Why would we? Every cop in the county was trying to destroy us. But your dad was different. He showed us the paperwork. The inconsistencies. The impossibilities.”

“Like what?” Ryan asked.

“Like the fact that three of the drug finds were identical. Same weight. Same packaging. Same substance. Down to the gram. That doesn’t happen with street dealers. That happens when someone’s pulling from the same evidence locker.”

The thin biker with the tattoos nodded. “He figured out Briggs was taking confiscated drugs from old cases and replanting them on us. The evidence logs didn’t match. Stuff that was supposed to be destroyed was showing up in our saddlebags.”

“Your father documented everything,” Walt said. “Spent three months building a case. On his own time. Without telling anyone in the department.”

“Why not go to internal affairs?” Ryan asked.

“Because Briggs had friends in internal affairs. Your dad didn’t know who he could trust. So he trusted us instead.”

Walt reached into his vest and pulled out a folded photograph. Handed it to Ryan.