"Is that right?" Brick asked, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.
"David didn't steal a dime from this club," I said. My voice shook, but I forced myself to look Brick dead in the eyes. I knew the club rules. David had told me enough about motorcycle clubs years ago. They value loyalty above life, and they punish rats with death. "David found out who was actually stealing from you. He took that ledger to prove it to you."
"Shut up, Sarah," Leo snapped, taking a step toward me, his hand dropping closer to the gun on the table.
"Let her speak," Brick commanded, raising one massive hand. He didn't raise his voice, but the absolute authority in the room instantly silenced Leo.
Brick walked slowly toward my chair. He leaned down, placing his heavy hands on his knees, bringing his scarred face level with mine. "You're telling me your husband stole my property... to help me?"
"Yes," I breathed. "David knew someone in your inner circle was skimming the drug money. He documented the drops. He decoded the routes. Look at the ledger, Brick. Look at the dates of the missing shipments."
Brick stood up and took the ledger from Leo's hand. He opened it, flipping through the pages.
"She's lying to save her own skin," Leo interjected, a slight edge of panic bleeding into his tone. "David coded those entries to hide his tracks."
"I read the book," I said, projecting my voice over Leo's. "Shipment four, dock nine. Three weeks ago. Thirty thousand dollars went missing. David was working a double shift at the auto shop that entire week. I have his timecards at home. He couldn't have been at the docks."
Brick stopped flipping pages. He looked at the entry, then looked at Leo.
"But you know who didn't have an alibi?" I pressed, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs. "The man who ran my husband off the highway three days ago to get that book back."
"That's a damn lie!" Leo shouted, his hand hovering inches from the gun.
"Watch your hands, Leo," Bear growled from the corner, stepping forward, his sheer size making the floorboards groan.
"I have proof," I said desperately, looking at Brick. "In my right pocket. Take it out."
Brick stared at me for a long moment. Then, he reached into the pocket of my cardigan. He pulled out the clear plastic bag holding the greasy blue shop towel.
"What is this?" Brick asked, holding it up to the light.
"My husband was run off the road by a black pickup truck," I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. "The police said it was a hit-and-run. But right before the crash, David wrote down the license plate of the truck chasing him on that towel. TX 4F9-R."
Brick looked at the numbers written in black marker.
"Now go look at the front bumper of the black truck parked outside," I said, my voice rising with absolute certainty. "It's freshly crumpled. It has black spray paint covering the damage. And it has that exact license plate."
The silence in the cabin was deafening.
Brick slowly turned his head to look at Leo.
Leo's face had gone completely white. He looked at Brick, then at Bear and Jax, who had already begun moving toward him, cutting off any angle of escape.
"Boss, you can't believe her," Leo stammered, backing away from the table. "It's a setup. David must have planned this—"
"Jax," Brick said softly, not taking his eyes off Leo. "Go check the plate on the truck."
Jax nodded and slipped out the open front door. We waited in excruciating silence for thirty seconds. Then Jax walked back in. He looked at Brick and gave a single, slow nod.
"It matches, Boss. Bumper's smashed to hell, too."
Brick closed the ledger with a heavy, definitive thud.
He didn't yell. He didn't fly into a rage. The coldness that settled over him was infinitely more terrifying. He walked over to the table and casually picked up the handgun Leo had left there. He dropped it into his own pocket.
"You stole from the club, Leo," Brick said, his voice quiet, devoid of all emotion. "And worse, you touched family to cover it up. You ran a brother off the road."