Ethan glanced down at the jacket.
"This?" he asked quietly.
Victor stepped closer.
"Don't play games with me. That patch belongs to the Iron Wolves."
Ethan swallowed.
"I know."
Victor's eyes narrowed.
"Then you know better than to wear it without permission."
"I wasn't trying to disrespect anyone."
"You're wearing a club jacket you haven't earned, sitting on a motorcycle in our parking lot, and telling me you didn't mean any disrespect?"
Ethan looked around the lot. A few riders had begun watching the confrontation.
"I can explain."
"Then explain."
Ethan opened his mouth, but the words seemed to disappear before he could speak.
Victor interpreted his silence as defiance.
He had spent years watching young men imitate the biker lifestyle because they liked the image. They wanted the leather, the engines, and the intimidating reputation without understanding the responsibility that came with them.
He had no patience for it.
"Take it off," Victor ordered.
Ethan's face changed.
"No."
The answer was quiet, but it was unmistakable.
Victor's expression darkened.
"What did you say?"
Ethan's hands tightened around the edge of the jacket.
"I said no."
The parking lot became silent.
Several Iron Wolves members exchanged glances. Nobody spoke to Victor that way, especially not a young stranger wearing the club's insignia.
Victor leaned forward.
"Listen carefully, kid. I don't know who you are, and I don't know how you got that jacket. But you're standing in front of a man who has spent thirty years protecting what that patch means."
Ethan's eyes began to shine with tears.
"I know exactly what it means."
"Then show some respect."
"I am trying to!"
His voice cracked.
The sudden emotion caught Victor off guard, but anger still controlled him.
"Then stop acting like a child and tell me where you got it."
Ethan looked down at the jacket again.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he reached into the inside pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper.
It was an old photograph, creased at the corners and worn almost white along the edges. The image had clearly been handled many times.
Ethan held it against his chest.
"My father gave me this before he died," he said.
Victor's expression remained stern.
"That doesn't explain anything."
"He told me that if I ever wanted to understand who he really was, I had to come here."
"Your father?"
Ethan nodded.
"He told me to find the Iron Wolves. He said there was someone here who deserved to know the truth."
Victor let out a bitter laugh.
"Lots of people tell stories about motorcycle clubs. That doesn't make them family."
Ethan flinched.
For a moment, it seemed as though he might put the photograph away and leave.
Instead, he looked directly at Victor.
"My father's name was Michael Carter."
The effect was immediate.
Victor stopped moving.
The noise from the road seemed to fade into the distance.
He stared at the young man, searching his face for some sign that he had heard incorrectly.
"What did you say?"
Ethan's lips trembled.
"Michael Carter. He was my father."
Victor shook his head.
"No."
The word came out almost involuntarily.
"That's impossible."
Ethan looked confused by the response.
"Why?"
Victor took a step backward.
"Michael Carter is dead."
"My father died three weeks ago."
Victor stared at him.
Ethan's eyes filled completely.
"He spent most of my life sick. He never told me much about his past. He didn't talk about motorcycles, and he wouldn't explain why he kept this jacket hidden away in a box."
Victor's face had begun to lose its color.
"You're telling me Michael was alive?"
Ethan nodded.
"He survived the accident. That's what he told me near the end."
Victor's mouth opened, but no words came out.
For twenty years, he had lived with the belief that his best friend had died somewhere on that mountain road. He had mourned him, remembered him, and blamed himself for failing to bring him home.
Now a stranger stood in front of him claiming that Michael had survived.
Victor could not accept it without proof.
"Show me the photograph."
Ethan hesitated.
Then he unfolded the paper.
The photograph showed two young men standing beside their motorcycles on a sunlit road. One had dark hair and a broad smile. The other was taller, with a familiar set to his shoulders and an expression that seemed almost too serious for his age.
Victor recognized the faces immediately.
The dark-haired man was Michael Carter.
The other was Victor himself.
He reached for the photograph with hands that had suddenly begun to shake.
Ethan carefully passed it to him.
Victor stared at the image.
The motorcycles were old models the club had ridden during its earliest years. The background was a roadside overlook outside Red Canyon, where the original members had stopped during their first long trip together.
Victor remembered that day.