Travis faced Pike again. “He’s finishing his senior year,” Travis said calmly. “Working evenings at a grocery store. Interviewing at Dalton Auto Repair tomorrow morning. Trying not to drop out.”
Evan stared at him. “How do you know that?”
Travis allowed himself the faintest smile. “Because when you asked about rides to Dalton Auto in the local veterans’ community group, somebody forwarded it.”
The message Travis had sent earlier hadn’t been to threaten anyone. It had been to mobilize support. Within twenty minutes, Iron Harbor Riders had confirmed Evan’s job interview, arranged transportation, and even contacted the auto shop owner — who agreed to meet him personally.
Officer Delgado glanced at Pike. “You’ve got your money,” he said quietly. “And now you’ve got witnesses to how this plays out.”
Pike hesitated, calculating optics more than ethics. “Fine,” he muttered. “Two days.”
Travis handed over the full amount without flourish. No speech. No gloating. Just a receipt.
Evan stood frozen. “Why?” he asked finally.
Travis met his eyes. “Because somebody did it for me when I was seventeen,” he replied.
The riders began dispersing slowly, conversations low and calm. No engines roared triumphantly. No celebration followed.
