I will never forget the sound of the paint come cracking open. It was sharp, hollow, like a gunshot in the morning air. And when I turned to the diner window, I saw it the first splash of pink house paint dripping down the chrome tank of my Harley King. The bike my wife gave me for our 25th anniversary.
the last gift she ever placed in my hands before cancer stole her. And now some kid with bleached tips and a phone on a tripod was grinning while he poured neon pink across it like it was a Tik Tok art project. Ty gang he shouted into his camera. Watch this. We are teaching these old bikers that gasg guzzling motorcycles are killing the planet. Each gallon of paint represents a gallon of blood on their hands from climate change.
His buddy filmed from another angle, zooming in as the paint sloshed onto the seat, the leather saddle bags, the asphalt beneath. Inside Eddie’s diner, the room went silent. We would been gathering here for 15 years. Same booth, same Saturday. We were not troublemakers. We were old men with scarred knuckles and tired backs who still found meaning in brotherhood and steel.
That morning, we were not planning a fight. We were planning a charity ride for kids battling cancer. Then Eddie’s daughter ran in. Wayne, some kids out there messing with your bikes. The other six men in my club, the Desert Eagles and Messi shot up from the booth, but I raised a hand. Wait, Wayne, that punk is destroying our rides.
Bear growled. He is 68, former construction worker. Hands like sledgehammers. I know, I said quietly, watching through the glass. But look at him. He is live streaming. He wants us to come out swinging. He wants to make us the villains. The kid Tyler Morrison, though I did not know his name yet. Moved on to Doc Stevens Gold Wing.
The oldest bike in the lineup. This one is extra crusty. Probably been polluting since the Stone Age. He dumped the last of the gallon. The pink paint cascading over the windshield. Then he turned the camera toward the diner. Now we wait for these tough guys to come out, but they one tea do a damn thing when they see they are being filmed. That was it.
The boys could not stand still any longer. We filed out into the parking lot, the desert sun bouncing off pink paint streaks and chrome. Tyler shoved his phone in my face. How does it feel knowing your generation destroyed the planet? These bikes are symbols of selfishness. I looked at the camera, then at my ruined Harley, then back at him.
My throat tightened, but my voice stayed steady. The bike was my wife’s last gift to me before she died. His grin widened. Good. One less polluter on the road. The comments on his live stream exploded. Laugh emojis. Fire symbols, clapping hands. He was winning the algorithm and he knew it. Bear clenched his fists. Let me at him, Wayne. Just one punch.
I pulled my phone out instead and snapped photos of the damage, the paint dripping down like tears. What is your name? I asked. The kid puffed his chest. Tyler the disruptor. Three words. One mission. disrupting boomers like you. Your real name like I would tell you grandpa, but I would already spotted the parking permit on his shiny BM.
Tyler Morrison. Got it. I turned to my brothers. Let us Doc blinked at me. Pink paint still dripping from his gold wing. We are leaving. We have got a charity ride to plan. These bikes won’t be ready anyway. The kid laughed, taunting us. That is it. You are just walking away. Bikers really are cowards now.
We did not look back. We did not need to. The entire diner had witnessed what happened and so had the internet. By nightfall, the video hit 2 million views. The kid gained a 100,000 new followers. Sponsors lined up. Podcasts invited him on. He bragged. I exposed those old bikers for what they really are. Weak men stuck in the past.
What he did not know, what he could not possibly understand was that we were not weak. We were patient. Because I would kept one more promise to my wife when she handed me the keys to that Harley all those years ago. She would said, “Use this to help people, not hurt them. And when someone tests you, do not answer with fists. Answer with truth.” So I was not walking away in surrender.
I was walking away to build a case, to gather witnesses, to speak to a lawyer, to make sure the world saw the full picture, not just the one this kid had edited for views. Tyler thought the paint was the story, but he had no idea that he would just stepped into something bigger than clicks, bigger than clout, bigger than his beu and his bleached hair and his fake smirk.
Because the truth about insurance, about liability, about responsibility, it is slow, it is boring, and it does not make for a flashy lever stream. But it destroys you all the same. And when the storm came for him, it would not be pink. It would be black and white. court papers, contracts, financial ruin, and we would be there, leather vests, riding straight through it.
Cliffer ending for part one. That night, I sat at my kitchen table, my wife’s photo beside me, my phone buzzing with notifications from people tagging me in the viral video. I did not open any of them. I just dialed one number. A woman’s voice answered, “Calm professional. Your offices of Rammers and Cole, insurance litigation division.
How may I help you?” I leaned back, staring at the photo of my Harley covered in pink paint. My name’s Wayne Patterson, I said. and I have got a case you will want to hear. Part two denied. The morning after the pink paint, I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing non-stop. Friends, neighbors, even old firehouse buddies sent me the same thing. Links to the Tik Tok video.
The comment section was a mob. Thousands of strangers laughing at us, calling us dinosaurs, calling me Kribe Grandpa Harley. I did not watch at all, couldn’t he? Instead, I stared out the window at the mess in my driveway. Seven motorcycles lined up like wounded soldiers, still dripping streaks of dried pink paint.
My road king looked wrong, like a coffin someone had scrolled graffiti across. I made coffee black and bitter, then sat down with a legal pad. Old habits die hard. When you have spent 30 years as a paramedic documenting every call, every injury, you learn to get things in writing, date, Saturday, incident, vandalism, perpetrator, Tyler Morrison.
Witnesses six members of Desert Eagle see Eddie’s Diner staff [Music] multiple customers. Evidence video footage viral. I slid the pad away and picked up the phone. Time to call the insurance company. The hold music. I would been paying monthly premiums for 19 years. Collision. left vandalism coverage the whole package.
I figured that if disaster struck insurance was the safety net. I dialed the claims line. Thank you for calling Monarch Mutual Insurance. Your call is important to us. Please hold. Jazz crackled through the receiver. Tiny and Solace. I waited 5 minutes 20. Finally, a woman picked up claims department. This is Karen.
I explained everything carefully, calmly. How we had proof, how the kid lever streamed the entire crime. She typed in silence. keys clacking. I see. Unfortunately, our vandalism coverage requires that the perpetrator be apprehended and charged for the claim to process. Otherwise, we can te confirm liability. My knuckles whitened around the receiver. You have his face on video.
his name. Hell, half the internet knows who he is. I understand your frustration, Patterson. But until law enforcement files charges, our hands are tied. That is and you know it. Silence, then a rehearsed sigh. I am sorry you feel that way. Is there anything else I can help you with today? I slammed the phone down hard enough to rattle the coffee cup. Brothers in ruin.
By noon, the boys rolled up one by one. The dock’s gold wing looked like someone had dunked it in Pepto-Bismol. Bare s triumph carried streaks of paint like battle scars. We stood in my driveway, circling the wreckage. Not a word at first, just the quiet fury of old men watching years of sweat and pride reduced to clown colored wrecks. They said no. Bear finally asked. They said no.
I confirmed. Doc shook his head, rubbing his temples. I just paid off that bike. 40 years of practice and my pensions tied up in hospital bills. Now this hammer. Our mechanic crouched to inspect his own Harley. Paint seeped into the wiring. This ain’t he just cosmetic. We are talking thousands.
How much? I asked. He did some mental math. Three grand per bike minimum. Maybe more if the frames corroded under the enamel. Seven bikes, 21 grand. None of us had that kind of cash lying around. I will mortgage the house. Doc muttered. Hell, I am 73. What do I need it for anyway? I said firmly.
Nobody’s losing their home over this. But the words tasted hollow because the truth was Monarch Mutual had just shoved us into a corner and Tyler Morrison was out there celebrating. Meanwhile, the disruptor. I did not see the live stream myself, but Jordan the cameraman posted clips all over Twitter and Instagram.
Tyler sat in a leather gaming chair sipping a Red Bull, bragging. Insurance companies are a scam anyway, right? Why should they bail out boomers who kill the planet if they can teay out of pocket? Maybe they should not own motorcycles. Comments poured in. Legend. This dude is fearless. Boomers taste best with Red Bull. He was not just winning clicks, he was landing sponsors.
A new energy drink partnership, a podcast deal made appearances at influencer festivals. While we were counting pennies, he was stacking bills, the lawyer. That night I met with Ramirez and Cole, a law firm on from street. The office smelled like coffee and paper. The kind of place where lives got torn apart or stitched back together.
Maria Ramirez was 40. Sharp eyes behind steel rim glasses. She did not waste time. You have got evidence. Video witnesses. But here’s the problem. Insurance companies stall. They bet you will run out of money before they do. It is a waiting game. We do not have the money to wait. I admitted, she leaned back.
Then we changed the game. We file a direct civil suit against Tyler Morrison. Once liability is legally established, Monarch Mutual will be forced to pay. They will still fight, but they won’t te have a choice. Bear crossed his arms. How much is this going to cost? Retainers 5 grand plus expenses. A heavy silence filled the room.
Five grand might as well have been 50. Doc cleared his throat. I will cover it. I cut. I said I will cover it. Wayne. My wife’s life insurance came through last year. I have been sitting on it. Maybe this is what it is for. His voice cracked on that last line. We all knew his wife passed in the spring. Maria tapped her pen.
You understand this one? TB easy. Tyler has money now. Sponsors. He will spin you as bullies trying to extort a kid. The court of public opinion can be brutal. I looked at her straight on. We have buried wives, fought wars, pulled broken bodies from car wrecks. Brutal does not scare us. Losing everything without a fight does. The letter.
A week later, Tyler posted a video reacting to the legal notice he would receive. He read out loud with fake tears. “Oh no, the big bad bikers are suing me. Guys, what do I do? Should I counter shoe for emotional distress? Maybe I will claim their bikes traumatized me with toxic fumes.” His fans ate it up.
He spun it into merch, t-shirts with pink paint splatters that read boomer tears toward 2023. Meanwhile, Monarch Mutual doubled down. I got a certified letter in the mail. Claim denied. Reason. Perpetrator not apprehended. Incident does not meet requirements of vandalism coverage under policy 13b. I called Maria. So what now? She said, we play hard ball.
But you need to understand, Wayne. Tyler’s got cash. He will drag this out. He will make you bleed. Breaking point. That night, Bear showed up at my house with a six-pack and a red face. My daughter’s college fund is gone. Wayne, I had to dip into it just to keep the lights on. Monarch wanty budge and Tylus getting richer every damn day. He slammed a fist on my kitchen table.
We should be put him in the ground that day. Screw insurance. Screw lawyers. Old-fashioned justice. Stop. My voice was firm, but my heart was heavy. That is what he wants. violence on camera. He wants to make us villains. Bear glared, then slumped into the chair. His shoulders shook. He was not crying. Not exactly, but the weight was breaking him. Brother, I said quietly.
We will get through this somehow. The twist. 2 days later, Maria called. Wayne, I pulled Tyler S. Financials. Do you know what he did with the money from those sponsors? He took out a private insurance policy on his beam. Full coverage. Theft vandalism. Everything. My stomach turned. He vandalizes your bikes for views, she continued.
But he protects his car with the very same system he mocks. That is hypocrisy and it is leverage. I gripped the phone tight, my pulse hammering. Wayne, she said softly. If we play this right, we do not just win the case. We expose. And when we do, Monarch Mutual want just have to pay. They will beg to settle.
I sat there in silence, staring at my wife’s photo on the mantle, her smile, her promise. The paint was not the end. It was just the opening shot. And the wall was about to get dirty. Before we begin part three, take a moment to subscribe, like the video, and share your thoughts about the two stories.
It may seem like a small gesture, but it truly helps keep these timeless tales alive. This story still has a long way to go, so if you do not have time to watch it all now, do not forget to save it and come back whenever you are ready. Part three. Pressure points. The first bill arrived on a Tuesday. Not from Monarch Mutual, not from the law firm. From the repair shop.
Hammer had pulled my road king apart to see how bad the damage was. His note was blunt. Dollar 3,278. Enamel removal. Recrome rewiring payment due in 30 days. I stared at it over my morning coffee. The numbers swimming. Multiply that by seven bikes and the total was north of 20 grand. The kind of number that could break men like us. A brother’s burden.
By the weekend, we gathered again at Eddie’s Diner. Same booth. Same stale coffee, same waitress who’d been serving us since the Bush administration. But the mood was different. Doc Stevens sat with his head in his hands. Mary’s medical bills drained everything. The house is still under mortgage. Now this repair, I do not have it. Bear leaned forward, veins bulging on his forearms.
You are not alone. My daughter’s tuition is due next month. I had to dip into her fund just to make rent. Hammer’s voice was low. I have been running side jobs in my garage at night. Can’t keep up. Silence followed. The kind that squeezes your chest until you can tea breathe. I broke it. We will figure it out. Marius building the case.
Once Tyler’s liability is proven, Monarch will have to pay. Bear scoffed. And when that Wayne, a year from now, we will all be broke by then. Monarch knows it. That is their game. He was not wrong. Insurance companies bled you with time. Meanwhile, the enemy prophets, Tyler, on the other hand, was thriving.
I did not follow his accounts, but it was impossible not to hear about him. His face was plastered across YouTube thumbnails, podcast promos, even an ad for some cryptocurrency exchange. He leaned into the role. Boomer Slayer, Planet Protector, Paint Avenger. His new beast paid for by sponsors was his prized possession. He would even bragged in a live stream about his bulletproof insurance policy on it. You hear that? Tai gang.
I am covered for everything left. Vandalism. Alien abduction. If anyone messes with my car, I am cashing in big time. Can he trust the system unless you play it smart? The hypocrisy made me sick. He painted our bikes for clout, mocked us for seeking coverage, then boasted about his own policy. Maria was right. It was leverage.
Meeting with Marriia at Rammeras and Cole, Maria laid it all out on a whiteboard. Here’s the problem. Monarch Mutual is stalling, waiting for you to crack under the financial weight. Tyler’s fame makes him untouchable in the public eye for now. If we push too hard, he will spin it as harassment. She circled the word insurance in bold red marker.
We hit him where it hurts publicly. If the world sees he vandalized your bikes for views while secretly protecting his own car with full coverage, the narrative flips. Suddenly he is not a disruptor. He is a hypocrite. Bear frowned. How does that help us in court? It forces Tyler’s hand. Sponsors hate bad. If they pull out, he loses income.
If he loses income, he can’t he afford drawn out litigation. He will settle. And once liability is confirmed, Monarch has no choice but to pay. Hammer rubbed his chin. So we are not just fighting in court. We are fighting in the court of public opinion. Marian nodded. Exactly. And we need to be smarter than him. The financial grind. The weeks that followed were brutal.
Doc pawned his wife’s jewelry. Bear picked up overnight shifts at a warehouse. I dug into the small pension I would sworn I would save for my grandkids. We were bleeding slowly, but we were not broken. Then another bill landed. Marius retain a refill. Dollar2,500 due. Bear exploded when he saw it. We are throwing money into a furnace.
Wayne Tyler out there buying designer sneakers while we are scraping coins. He will slip, I said. Guys like him always do. Bear jabbed a finger at me. And if he does not, what then? We lose everything waiting for justice that never comes. The diner went quiet. Even Eddie pretended to wipe down tables just to listen. Finally, Doc spoke softly.
Wayne’s right. We have to believe. My wife believed insurance would take care of me when she passed. It did. Barely. Now it is our turn to fight for what we are owed. His voice cracked on the word wife. None of us had the heart to argue after that. Tyler’s counterpunch. The first major blow came on a Friday night. Maria called me.
Wayne, you need to sit down. I am already sitting. What is wrong? Tyler filed a counter suit. My stomach dropped for what? Defamation. He is claiming your statements about him being a vandal are harming his brand deals. His lawyers are asking for damages. Half a million dollars. I nearly dropped the phone. That is insane. He liver streamed.
It doesn’t te matter. He will argue it was performance art. Satire [Music] protected speech. And until a judge decides, you are on the hook for defense costs. I pinch the bridge of my nose like pulse hammering. So he destroys our bikes and now we are the ones being sued. That is the strategy. Pressure you until you fold.
The breaking point at the next club meeting. Bear slammed the countersuit papers onto the table. That is it. I’m we can te fight lawyers and insurance companies at the same time. They have got money. We do not. This is a losing battle. Here I started. Wayne, you are leading us off a cliff. My daughter s tuition is gone. My savings are gone.
I can keep bleeding for a damn principal. The room went silent. Doc whispered. So what you are quitting? Bear’s jaw worked. Finally, he stood. I am saying. Maybe it is time we handle this the old way. Off camera. Off record. The way we used to. He left before anyone could stop him. Marius strategy. 2 days later, Maria gathered us in her office again.
Listen carefully, she said, her voice tight. Tyler’s counteruit is smoke. He knows it won’t hold, but is enough to scare you. Don’t let it. The key is still his beam policy. If we can prove he insured it while mocking you for trying to claim the hypocrisy alone will sway both the court and public opinion.
Hammer asked, “How do we prove it?” Maria smiled faintly. “We suppose it.” Doc raised a brow. Will a judge approve that? They will if we show probable cause. And thanks to his live stream bragging about it. We have enough to file the motion. My chest tightened. Finally, an opening. The setup. That night I drove past Tyler’s condo. I was not stalking, just observing.
His Beimu sat gleaming under the street light, spotless, [Music] freshly detailed. He came out with Jordan, laughing, phone in hand. They filmed a skit about pranking a pizza delivery guy. His fans ate up in real time. I sat in my truck across the street, gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles ashed. Bear’s words echoed in my head. Maybe it is time we handle this the old way.
I was not that man anymore. My wife made me promise. But when Tyler leaned against his beam, smirking into the camera, I could not help but imagine what it would feel like to pour a gallon of paint over his shiny hood, started the engine, and drove off before the thought became temptation. The next morning, Maria called.
Her voice carried both triumph and tension. Wayne. The judge approved the motion. We are getting access to Tyler’s insurance policy on the BAM. I exhaled. Relief flooding my chest. That is good. It is, she said carefully. But brace yourself. If what I suspect is true, this won’t just be about hypocrisy. It could open a door you are not ready for.
What kind of door the kind she said that makes enemies out of billiondoll insurance companies? Tyler’s just a porn. Monarch Mutual may be the real hand moving the pieces. Part four. The Empire Strikes Back. The courthouse air smelled like old wood polish and fear.
Maria had warned us the hearing was just procedural a judge reviewing whether we could suppose a Tyler Morrison s insurance policy on his B memo. But you would not have known that by the circus outside. News vans lined the curb. Protesters waved cardboard signs. Save the planet not boomers bikes. just as for Tyler. And in the middle of it all, Tyler himself, smiling for the cameras like a movie star.
Look who showed up, he shouted into his phone, angling it toward us. The desert dinosaurs. These guys think I ruined their lives with a little pink paint. Now they are trying to bankrupt me in court. But the T gang knows the truth. Fans screamed his name. He blew kisses. Bear’s fists clenched beside me. One punch, Wayne. Just one. Not today, I said. Not ever.
He wants that moment inside the machine. The hearing itself was quick. Maria presented the live stream clip where Tyler bragged about his bulletproof insurance. She argued that if he could protect his car with full coverage, then his attacks on us were not activism. They were hypocrisy designed for clout.
The judge, a tired man in his 60s with bags under his eyes leaned back. Motion granted. Monarch Mutual will provide the policy for review. That was all we needed. Just a signature, a door cracking open. But Monarch Mutual did not get to be one of the biggest insurance companies in America by losing quietly. The letter 2 days later, I got a certified envelope, thick, glossy, with Monarchus logo embossed in gold.
Inside was a letter that made my stomach turn. Notice of investigation. Dear Patterson, it has come to our attention that recent claims and legal actions you have initiated may constitute insurance fraud, conspiracy to defraud, or coordinated harassment of another policyholder. As such, we are launching an internal investigation.
Your policies with Monarch Mutual are hereby frozen pending review. Fraud. They were accusing us. I called Maria immediately. They froze my policy. They are calling me a fraud. Her side was heavy. I was afraid of this. They are playing offense. It is not about Tyler anymore. It is about protecting their brand. Corporate per warfare.
The next morning, Monarch launched a full-blown Per campaign. Billboards popped up around Vegas. Monarch Mutual protecting policy holders from fraud and abuse. A local news anchor ran a story. Are motorcycle clubs exploiting insurance loopholes? Tonight at 11:00. And right in the middle of it, Tyler was their poster boy. He sat for interviews in a crisp polo shirt, his hairstyled perfectly.
“They are trying to ruin me,” he said, voice trembling on Q. “All because I spoke out about pollution. I insured my car because I believe in responsibility.” But they they are abusing the system. These bikers are not victims. They are predators. Clips went viral. Sponsors doubled down. Meanwhile, our reputations built over decades of sweat, service, and sacrifice were being shredded overnight. The meeting.
Maria called an emergency meeting at her office. We sat around her conference table. Tension thick. They have shifted the narrative. She said it is classic corporate strategy. Paint you as frauds before you can paint Tyler as a hyperrite. Doc rubbed his temples. How do we fight billiondoll purr? We do not. Maria said not directly but we can expose them.
Insurance companies do not fear lawsuits. They fear sunlight. If we can find one case, just one where Monarch denied coverage unfairly and connected to this, we can blow the lid off. Bear grunted. So we go digging. Maria nodded. Every denial letter, every complaint, every family ruined by monarch.
We turn this from your fight into everyone s fight. The first crack. Hammer came through first. His niece worked at a body shop in Henderson. She whispered that Monarch had denied three separate families after car wrecks last year cases where liability was obvious.
Then Doc found a widow whose husband’s life insurance was delayed for 18 months, forcing her into bankruptcy. Piece by piece, a pattern emerged. Monarch was not just stalling us, they would been installing everyone. Meanwhile, Tyler’s high while we dug in the dirt. Tyler soared higher. He posted a video of himself test driving a Ducatti Panigail, revving it with a smirk.
Guess I am a biker now, but a clean energy biker because I will carbon offset every ride. Comments exploded. And the boomers Tyler on a bike is peak irony. Can he wait for him to ride circles around? Those fossils. He was untouchable. Or so he thought. The ambush. It happened at a town hall in Summerland.
Monarch executives were hosting a community forum to highlight their commitment to ethical coverage. We showed up bear doc hammer and me vests scars showing not a hint of apology in our faces. Cameras swiveled the moment we walked in. A monarch VP in a tailored suit smiled wide. Gentlemen, can we help you? I stepped forward holding the denial letter up. You can start by explaining why you call this fraud while paying influencers to smear us. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Reporters scribbled. The VP’s smile tightened. I assure you. I cut him off. My voice carried like a hammer on steel. You do not assure us. You answer us. You denied coverage on vandalism. everyone saw happen live. You accused veterans, paramedics, working men of fraud.
Meanwhile, you bankroll a kid who brags about his bulletproof policy. Which is it? Monarch, do you protect policy holders or do you protect profits? The room erupted. [Music] Cameras flashed. The VP stammered something about ongoing investigations, but the damage was done for the first time. The narrative cracked. The retaliation.
We did not sleep easy that night because the very next morning, Bear’s bank account was frozen. A letter arrived citing suspicious financial activity related to insurance disputes. Then Doc’s credit card was shut down. Then Hammer got a call from his landlord. Monarch had sent an inquiry about his rental insurance. They were not just fighting us in court. They were bleeding us in real life.
Maria’s face went pale when we told her they are flexing muscle, trying to show you they control every part of your financial lives. Bear slammed a fist into the wall. So what? We just roll over, Maria said. Her eyes burned, we go bigger. You want drama? You want attention? We hold a press conference. We bring every denial victim we can find.
We show the world monarch does not ensure people. They bury people. the uninvited guest. The next week, we held it outside Eddie’s Diner. Dozens of families showed up with photos of wrecked cars. Medical bills, foreclosure notices, all tied to Monarch. Reporters swarmed. I stepped to the mic, my vest gleaming under the sun.
We’re not just seven old bikers fighting for paint splattered motorcycles. We every American who has been told claim denied. Monarch Mutual calls us frauds. I call them thieves. Cheers erupted. Cameras rolled. And then a sleek black bum pulled up. The crowd parted. outstepped Tyler Morrison. Designer sunglasses flashing. He grabbed his phone, grinning at the live feed.
What is up, Ty Gang? Looks like the dinosaurs are holding a pity party. Don T worry. I am here to crash it. Reporters swarmed him instantly. Tyler smirked at me across the mic. Tell me Wayne if Monarch is so bad. Why do I sleep easy every night knowing they have got my back? Maybe it is not the company. Maybe it is you. The crowd gasped. Cameras caught every second.
And I knew then this was not just a fight for money or justice or even reputation. It was war. and Tyler had just walked onto our battlefield. Part five, breaking the bank. The first foreclosure notice came on a Thursday. Doc Stevens opened the envelope at the diner, his hands shaking so hard the paper rattled.
His mortgage company had given him 60 days to pay overdue installments or risk losing the house he and Mary had lived in for 40 years. I thought could stretch it, he whispered, voice breaking. Use the pension, juggle the bills until Monarch came through. But they froze everything, froze my credit cards, froze my line of credit. I can’t even refinance. We sat in stunned silence.
Doc was not just our brother. He was the oldest of us, the one we leaned on. Watching him crumble felt like watching the whole foundation crack. They are not fighting fair. Mayor muttered. They are bleeding us slow until we fold. They want us to walk away, I said. But we can tee. Doc’s eyes filled. If Mary were alive, she would tell me to let it go.
to protect what is left. But she is gone. All I have got left is this house. If I lose it, he did not finish. He did not have to. We all knew what he meant. Tyler’s victory lap. That same week, Tyler posted his most watched video yet. A slick montage of him test riding his Jucati, laughing in slow motion.
Drone shots of him roaring down the strip. Overlay text read. This is what happens when you win. Insured. Secure. Unstoppable. He capped it off with a smirk to the camera. Monarch has got my back. Guess the dinosaurs should be picked a better company. The comments flooded in. Bro is untouchable. Insurance King.
Meanwhile, Grandpa bikers are eating cat food more. I forced myself to watch the whole clip. Bile rising. Tyler had turned our suffering into content. And Monarch was letting him, maybe even funding it. Maria’s revelation. Maria called us into her office again. She looked tired. Dark circles under her eyes. Folder stacked high.
I have been digging, she said. And I think I have figured out why Monarch is going nuclear. Tal is not just a policy holder. He is part of a new influencer program. They are piloting Monarch creators. They sponsor popular streamers to promote financial responsibility to young audiences. Hammer size narrowed. Financial responsibility. The kid vandalized bikes for views.
Doesn’t te matter? Maria said he pulls in clicks and clicks translate to signups. Monarchs betting millions on him as the face of this program. If he goes down, their whole campaign collapses. So this is not about us. Beer growled. It is about protecting their golden boy. Marian nodded grimly. Exactly. And that means they will scorch earth to protect him. The financial spiral.
The pressure hit each of us in different ways. Bear started drinking again cheap whiskey. The kind that makes you mean. His daughter stopped answering his calls. Doc got eviction notices taped to his door. He stopped sleeping, stopped showing up to the diner. Hammer pawned half his tools. Without them, he could not take repair jobs, which meant less money, which meant more debt. I spent nights at my kitchen table staring at bills.
My pension barely covered utilities, and my savings were draining fast. Every tick of the clock felt like blood leaving a wound. Insurance was supposed to be a safety net. Instead, it was a noose tightening around our throats. The temptation. One night, Bear showed up at my house. His knuckles were raw like he would punch a wall. I can tea do it anymore.
Wayne, he said, Doc is losing his house. My kid hates me. Tyler out there swimming in cash. Monarch laughing while we choke. What is the point of fighting clean? I did not answer. He leaned in, eyes wild. Give me a name. Just one. I will find the bastard who signed those denial letters. I will make them pay. I grabbed his shoulder.
That is what they want. One slip, one punch. And we are the villains again. You will hand them everything. He pulled away. shaking. Then what? Wayne, what do we do? Wait for them to bury us alive. His words cut deep because I did not have an answer. The press conference fall out.
Our public stand had rattled Monarch, but they struck back harder. Local news aired an investigation into motorcycle clubs abusing insurance claims. They showed grainy footage of biker bar fights from years ago. None of them ours, but the implication was clear. We were criminals in leather, not victims. The comment section tore us apart.
Why should insurance pay for gang bikes? But those old dudes staged the whole thing for a payout. Boomer’s crying wolf again. Maria slammed her fist on her desk. This is corporate smear. They are buying media coverage to poison the well. Can we sue for defamation? I asked against monarch. You would need $10 million and a decade. Bear laughed bitterly.
So basically we are screwed. Tyler’s party. The lowest point came when Tyler hosted a live stream party to celebrate hitting 1 million followers. He rented a rooftop in downtown Vegas. Neon lights blazing. Music pounding. Dozens of influencers danced while Tyler toasted with champagne.
“Here, Es Monarch Mutual,” he said into the camera. the company that actually protects people like me, not frauds like them. Behind him, a projector played clips of us walking into court, our faces scalling, frozen mid-sentence, edited to look ridiculous. The crowd laughed. I watched it all from my phone in the dark. My wife’s photo beside me.
My chest aged, not just from rage, but from shame. How had we become the punchline s gambit? The next day, Maria showed up at Eddie’s diner with a folder thick as a Bible. She dropped it on the table. here. She said, “Hundreds of pages, complaints, denials, lawsuits, Monarch’s greatest hits. I have got widows, veterans, single moms, all shafted by the same company. This is not just your fight anymore. It is everyone’s.
” Doc flipped through, his eyes widening. They denied cancer treatment to a 5-year-old. Marian nodded and the family lost their home trying to pay out of pocket. Monarch called it a pre-existing condition. Bear slammed the folder shut. So what is the plan? We go public bigger than before. Not just local press national. We put faces to the names.
Families, kids, anyone monarchs screwed over. We turn your case into the spare head of a class action. Hammer leaned back. That’ll paint a target on us bigger than ever. Maria’s eyes burned. Good. Let them aim. Because when this hits daylight, no amount of prayer can save them. The ultimatum.
That night I got a call from a blocked number. A man’s voice low and smooth. Patterson, this is a courtesy call. Drop the lawsuit. Accept the claim denial and walk away. Do that and Monarch Mutual will unfreeze your accounts. We will even issue a goodwill payment for your trouble. I gripped the phone tight. If I do not, the voice was calm.
Then your friends will lose their homes, [Music] their families, their dignity. And when they do, they will blame you. Click. The line went dead. The collapse. 2 days later, Doc was served eviction papers. He showed up at my house. Broken. It is over. Wayne, I can tea fight anymore. I am too old. Too tired. Mary’s gone. And now the house is too. Maybe Monarch’s right.
Maybe I should just walk away. I put a hand on his shoulder, Doc. But he shook his head. I can tea. Not anymore. And just like that, one of our strongest was gone. The bombshell. That night, Maria called, her voice trembling for the first time. Wayne, I got the sapone documents from Tyler’s policy and you are not going to believe this. What is it? He did not just insure the bumu.
He insured the ducati. Full coverage left. Vandalism accidents the whole package. And here’s the kicker. She paused as if bracing herself. The premiums were paid directly by Monarch Mutual. Not Tyler, the company itself. My blood ran cold. So they were not just protecting him. They were sponsoring him. Worse. Maria said they own him.
He is not an independent influencer. He is a corporate puppet. And if we expose this, we one t just topple Tyler. We will put Monarchs entire empire on trial. I stared at the phone in silence, the weight of it crushing my chest. We were not fighting a stupid kid anymore. We were fighting a corporation with billions at stake. And they were willing to destroy us to keep their secret.
Part six, the financial counter strike. The supposed file sat on Marriott’s desk like a loaded gun. Inside was the truth. Tyler Morrison’s insurance premiums were not paid by him. They were not even build to his name. They were paid directly by Monarch Mutual. Every cent jucati full coverage corporate sponsorship disguised as responsibility. Maria tapped the folder. This is it.
The crack in the armor. Tyler is not a crusader. He is a product. A paid mascot in Monarch’s influencer program. If we expose this, we do not just challenge his narrative. If we collapse it, bear leaned forward. Eyes burning. So what is the play? Class action. Maria said, “We find every policyholder monarch screwed over. Every claim they denied and we build a coalition.
You seven are not just old men with ruined bikes anymore. You are the face of every American burned by insurance greed. Doc shook his head. I thought I was out. You were not out, Maria said gently. You are proof. They foreclosed on you while Tyler bragged about one arc covering his jukati. That contrast is dynamite.
I looked around the table at my brother’s worn faces. tired eyes, but still fighting. Then let us light the fuse. Building the army. The next two weeks were chaos. Maria’s office became a war room. Families streamed in daily. Single moms denied disability. Veterans cut off from health coverage.
Small businesses bankrupted by processing delays. We listened to story after story. Each one a gut punch. A widow forced to sell her husband’s s truck after Monarch delayed life insurance for 18 months. A mother of three denied coverage for her daughter Sukemia because it was deemed pre-existing. A retired firefighter whose house burned down only to have Monarch claim his fire alarm was not properly maintained. Hammer slammed his fist on the table.
This is not negligence. It is policy. It is built into their system. Marian nodded grimly. Exactly. They do not ensure people. They ensure profits. By the end of the month, we had 50 families signed on, then 100, then 200. The class action was real, and Monarch knew it. Monarch strikes back. The retaliation came fast.
First, anonymous calls to the families, threats, offers of hush money, intimidation, then smear pieces in national outlets are motorcycle clubs exploiting insurance loopholes with stock photos of tattooed bikers looking menacing. Tyler went live, tears in his eyes. I tai gang. These bikers are harassing me, dragging my family into this. Monarch has stood by me.
But I do not know how much longer I can handle the hate. [Music] Millions watched. Sponsors poured sympathy. Bear nearly threw his TV through the window. He vandalized us. And now he is the victim. Stay focused. Maria said the truth will cut deeper than his theatrics. The financial plan, we needed money. Class actions were not cheap.
Filing fees, expert witnesses, investigators, it all added up. That is when Hammer had an idea. What if we flip the script? They paint us as broke old men begging for handouts. Fine, let us ask for help. Crowdfund it, but not for us, for everyone. Monarch screwed over. Make it about the families. Maria hesitated. It is risky.
If it fails, they will mock you. If it works, it could go viral. Then let us make it work. I said we shot a video in Eddie’s Steiner, no filters, no polish, just me and the boys sitting at our booth telling the truth. I looked straight into the camera. My name’s Wayne Patterson.
Monarch Mutual called me a fraud after the sponsored influencer destroyed the last gift my wife gave me. But this is not just about me. It is about every American who is heard the words claim denied when they needed help the most. If you’ve been screwed by monarch, stand with us. If you believe insurance should protect people, [Music] not corporations, help us fight. We launched the page that night.
By morning, it had $150,000. By evening, $1200,000. [Music] By the end of the week, over a million dollars. Monarch Pro Machine could not keep up. Tyler cracks. The pressure got to Tyler on a late night stream. He lashed out. You people do not get it. I earned this. Monarch believes in me because I am the future. Those bikers are the past.
They are relics clinging to their Harleys and their sob stories. I am the face of responsibility. I am the one showing young people how to He paused, eyes darting offcreen. Jordan, his cameraman had whispered something. Tyler snapped, “Shut up. I know what I am saying, but the slip was caught.” Clips circulated. Shut up.
Fans speculated that even Jordan was doubting him. The Golden Boy was showing cracks. The rally. With crowdfunding behind us, Murray organized a rally outside Monarch’s Vegas headquarters. Hundreds showed families, veterans, bikers from other clubs, news crews circled like vultures.
I stood at the mic, leather vest shining in the sun, insurance is supposed to mean security. Monarch turned it into a weapon. They denied claims, froze accounts, destroyed lives. Not just ours, yours, but today we say no more. Cheers erupted. Signs waved. Monarch denied my dad’s cancer. Insurance should protect people. Second chances, not claim denials. It felt like momentum.
For the first time, we were not on defense. The settlement offer. Two nights later, Maria called us into her office. Her face was unreadable. They blinked. What do you mean? I asked. Monarch just made a settlement offer. 3 million split among the seven of you. Full gag order, no trial, no class action. The room went dead silent. Bear whistled low.
3 million. Doc rubbed his face. That could save my house. Hammer muttered. That is more money than I have ever seen in my life. Maria’s gaze was hard. It is blood money. They want to buy your silence. If you take it, every family depending on this fight gets nothing. The room erupted. Bear shouted. Why should not we take it? We have lost enough. My kid’s future is gone.
Doc is losing his house. We are drowning while monarch throws us scraps. Docker’s voice cracked. It is not scraps there. It is survival. I sat in silence. My wife’s photo in my wallet burning like a brand. 3 million. Enough to end the pain. Enough to rebuild. Enough to forget. But what about the widow with the denied life insurance? The little girl with leukemia.
The firefighter who lost his home. Marius eyes locked on mine. Wayne, they will follow your lead. Do we take the money or burn the bridge and go to war? The leak. Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. Check this out before you decide. Attached was a video file. I opened it.
Grainy footage of a boardroom. Monarch executives around a long table. At the head, the same VP we would confronted at the town hall. His voice was cold. Calculated. If the bikers take the settlement, fine. If not, we unleash the smear campaign. background checks, old arrests, any dirt we can dig, we will bury them in lawsuits until they beg for mercy.
And if that does not work, well, accidents happen. Motorcycles are dangerous machines. The video cut off. The room went silent. The weight of those last words hanging like smoke. Accidents happen. I looked around at my brothers. For the first time, I saw fear not of losing money, but of losing lives.
We were not just fighting for justice anymore. We were fighting to survive. Part seven, the vicious crossfire. The leaked video kept me up for three nights straight. Accidents happen. The words replayed in my skull like a bad song. Twisting, gnoing, pulling me toward places I had not been in decades. Back to the nights when violence was our language.
When fists and chains spoke louder than lawyers. But this was not 1985. We were older, slower, carrying more scars than pride. Manach knew it. They were not just betting on our wallets breaking. They were betting on our patients snapping. And they were doing everything they could to snap it. Smear campaign. The smear hit full blast Monday morning.
The Las Vegas Chronicle ran a front page story. Motorcycle Club at center of fraud probe. Our bikers exploiting insurance loophole dragged our names through mud. All bar fights from 20 years ago. Parking tickets. Even docks foreclosure painted as suspicious financial maneuvering. Then the TV anchors piled on. These men claimed to be victims. One commentator sneered.
But records show a history of criminal behavior. Is this lawsuit really about justice or just another payday? Maria slammed the newspaper on her desk. They are digging into everything. This is character assassination. Pure and simple. Bear threw his hands up. Well, it is working. My boss called this morning said I am toxic for business.
I am out of work. Doc’s voice trembled. My neighbors left a note on my door. Said I was making the whole block look bad. I have lived there 40 years. Hammer shook his head. They are not just ruining us in court. They are erasing us from our own damn lives. Tyler is in core. As if on cute. Tyler uploaded his own masterpiece, a highbudget video with dramatic music and slow motion shots of him polishing his beam.
Overlay text. Some people fake victimhood. I protect what I love. That is why I trust Monarch Mutual. Then, as if mocking us directly, he opened a gallon of neon blue paint and pretended to pour it over his car. At the last second, he stopped, winked, and tossed the can aside. Because real responsibility, he said into the camera.
Is knowing your insurance has you covered. The video hit 10 million views in 2 days. Sponsors lined up again. He announced a tour, the Tai Gang Responsibility Road Show powered by Monarch Mutual. They were not just defending him. They were weaponizing him. Families under fire. It did not stop with us. Bear’s daughter got anonymous texts at college. Your dad’s a fraud.
She stopped calling him. Hammers landlord served him a notice. Find new insurance or find a new place. Monarch had quietly pulled his renters coverage. Even my grandkids were not safe. A stranger at their school whispered, “Your grandpa’s a crook.” My daughter called me in tears, asking if it was true. I lied.
I told her not to worry. But inside, I was breaking. Insurance was not just numbers on paper anymore. It was leverage. A weapon that could be aimed at the people you loved most. The near miss. The real scare came one night after a late meeting with Maria. Bear and I were home down Highway 95. Dark desert all around. The stars sharp as knives overhead.
That is when the sub appeared. Black tinted windows, no plates. It pulled alongside Bear, [Music] swerving closer, closer until the side mirror clipped his handlebar. His bike wobbled, tires screeching. I roared up, pushing him upright, the roar of my Harley drowning out his curse. The sub swerved again, then sped off into the night.
Bear pulled over, panting, helmet shaking in his hands. That was not no accident. I looked at the empty highway, rage boiling in my chest. It was not Maria s fury. When we told Maria, she went pale. This is intimidation. Classic corporate tactic. But if we report it, they will spin it as paranoia without proof. It is our word against theirs.
Bear slammed his fist on the table. So what? We just wait until they kill one of us. Maria said her voice was low. Dangerous. We push harder. They are trying to scare you off because they know you are close that meet those premiums. Monarch will do anything to bury it. That means we have got leverage. Her eyes met mine. We go public. We release the leak.
The decision. The room went dead quiet. Release it? Doc asked. They will come for us harder. Exactly, Maria said. But once the public sees that boardroom video, it won’t te just be about you. It will be about corporate corruption, about an insurance giant admitting they are willing to ruin lives and worse to protect profits. Bear shook his head. They will bury us.
Literally, I stared at the folder on the table, the weight of my wife’s photo in my pocket. She would wanted me to fight with truth, not fists. Do it, I said. Maria exhaled. All right, but once this goes live, there is no going back. The Firestorm. The video dropped at midnight. We posted it on every platform.
YouTube, Twitter, Facebook. Leaked footage. Monok Mutual execs threatened victims. Within hours, it was everywhere. Cable news picked it up. Talk shows debated it. Hashtags trended hashmonic exposed hash insurance a fraud hash Thai gang truth for the first time the tide shifted commenters turned on Tyler wait Monarch pays his premiums so he is not responsible at all dude’s a puppet it. Tyler went live in a panic.
That video’s fake. Deep fake. Come on, Ty. Gang, you know I would never. But his eyes betrayed him. The confidence was gone. The mask was slipping. The counter punch. One did not flinch. The very next day, they filed a new motion, a $50 million counter suit against the Desert Eagles for defamation, harassment, and interference with business contracts.
It was theater, but it was effective. The news ran headlines. Bikers face $50 million lawsuit. Reporters camped outside our homes. Creditors called non-stop. My mailbox filled with hate letters. Bear showed up at my house drunk, waving a notice. They froze my bank account again. My kids tuition scone. Everything esgone.
He collapsed onto my porch, sobbing like a man twice his age. I pulled him into a chair, my own chest hollow. They want us broken. Bear, that is the goal. The betrayal. The worst blow did not come from Monarch. It came from inside. Jordan the cameraman. Tyler’s longtime friend posted a video. His face pale. Voice shaking. I can te stay quiet anymore.
Tyler’s not who you think he is. Monarch paid for everything. His cars, his condo, even some of his stunts, the paint on those bikes. Larch knew. They told him to do it. They wanted controversy to promote their responsibility campaign. The internet exploded. But before the video hit a million views, it vanished. deleted.
Jordan’s accounts wiped clean. His phone disconnected. He was gone. Vanished. The warning. That night, I found a note taped to my front door. No envelope, just a single sheet of paper typed. Stop now. rain or the next accident won’t be a warning. I stood there on my porch, the desert wind whipping the paper in my hands.
My wife’s photo pressed against my chest in my wallet, heavy as stone. For the first time, I wondered if she would forgive me for what I was about to do. Because this fight was not about money anymore. It was about survival. And sometimes survival meant breaking promises. Part 8, the dark settlement offer. The note on my door still felt warm in my hands when the phone rang.
[Music] Block number. Same low calm voice as before. Patterson. It said we gave you fair warning. Now it is time to be practical. Meet us tomorrow night. KZA s palace suit 2304 midnight. Come alone. Click. No argument. No chance to refuse. Just a summons. [Music] The gathering. I did not go alone.
Bear insisted on waiting in the parking garage with hammer. Doc sat two floors down in the casino. Eyes on the elevators. Maria was not happy, but she understood. If Monach wanted a private chat, fine, but we were not stupid. I rode the elevator up, my vest creaking against the leather of the chair rail.
My wife’s photo was in my wallet and my heart thumped like war drums. The suit door opened before I knocked. Inside sat three men in suits. The VP I would confronted at the town hall. Another corporate shark with sllicked back hair and a third man I did not recognize tall. Pale eyes like stone. He did not introduce himself. The V smiled thinly.
Patterson, thank you for joining us. I did not sit get to it. The offer. They slid a folder across the table. Inside a settlement agreement, $10 million split however we wanted among the club. Gag order. Lawsuit dismissed. No class action. My throat tightened. 10 million. The slick-haired one leaned forward. Yes, Patterson.
Enough to repair your bikes, your homes. Your dignity. Enough to ensure your grandchildren never struggle. All you have to do is sign. If I do not, the pale man finally spoke. His voice was low. A flat without accent. Then accidents happen. Silence. I stared at him. Is that a threat? Of course not. The VP said smoothly. It is a reminder.
Motorcycles are dangerous machines. Life is unpredictable. Why gamble with it when you can walk away wealthy? The temptation for one insane moment. I thought about it. 10 million split seven ways. That is over a million a piece. Doc could save his house. Bear could send his daughter back to school. Hammer could rebuild his shop.
I could retire in peace. Maybe even buy a new Harley. My wife’s voice whispered in my head. Promise me you will use this bike to help people, not hurt them. If I signed, I could help my brothers. If I refuse, I might bury them. The pen sat heavy in my hand. The interruption. Then my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Heard you are at Kaz. Danty, sign anything. Check your email. I excuse myself. Stepping into the bathroom. Open my email. A video file waited. It was Jordan, the cameraman, who vanished. His face was bruised, his voice. They took me, he whispered. One arch people they wanted me to recant my video say it was fake when I refused.
This is what happened. He lifted his shirt revealing bruises across his ribs. He leaned close to the camera. Don’t take their deal. If you sign you bury every family they have screwed. Please, Danty, let my silence be for nothing. The video cut out. My chest burned. My hands shook. Jordan was still alive, but barely. And Monarch was behind it.
[Music] The confrontation. I walked back into the suit. The VP raised an eyebrow. Well, I slid the folder back across the table. Shove it. The pale man’s eyes narrowed. You are making a mistake. I said you are. You thought this was about money. It is not. It is about truth and the truth will bury you.
I turned and walked out. My pulse hammered in my ears, but my legs did not falter. Bear and hammer were waiting in the garage. Engines rumbling. Doc texted. Saw you leave. You okay? I was not okay, but I was resolved. The fallout. The next morning, Monarch unleashed hell. A full page at In the Chronicle. bikers reject justice.
Pursue extortion. A news report accusing us of connections to organized crime. Grainy photos of us at funerals edited to look like gang meetings. And the biggest blow. Monarch froze our crowdfunding account. Over a million dollars locked. The platform issued a statement. due to allegations of fraudulent activity.
We have temporarily suspended the fundraiser pending review. Maria nearly tore her hair out. This is war. They are not just fighting you. They are burning every bridge you try to cross. Doc sat slumped in his chair. I can te take this anymore. Wayne Mary’s house is gone. My pension’s gone. I have got nothing left to fight with.
Bear slammed his fist on the table. Then fight with rage. We can t-roll over now. I stayed silent because for the first time I was not sure who was right. Tyler s triumph. Tyler sees the moment. He went live outside Monarch’s headquarters wearing a tailored suit. A Monarch mutual pin on his label. Thai gang.
This is what responsibility looks like. Monarch offered those bikers a fair deal. $10 million, but they turned it down because they do not care about justice. They care about drama. They are leeches sucking the system dry. Reporters ate it up. Sponsors praised him. Monarch doubled down on their golden boy and the public the public wavered. Comments split. The bikers are heroes.
Donty give up. 10 million was not enough. Greedy frauds. We were bleeding support. The breaking point. That night bear showed up at my house drunk again. His eyes were wild, his breath thick with whiskey. You should be signed. Wayne 10 million. We would be free. You think they would let us walk free? I shot back.
They would own us, own our silence, and then they would crush everyone else. He grabbed my vest collar. I do not care about everyone else. I care about my daughter. She is out there starving while you play martyr. I shoved him off, his fists clenched. For a second, I thought he would swing. Instead, he broke down, sobbing into his hands.
I put a hand on his shoulder. We will find another way. There, I swear it. But even as I said it, doubt gnawed at me. The rally of shadows. Two nights later, bikers from other clubs showed up at Eddie’s Diner. Not just local cruise riders from Arizona, California, even Texas. We saw the leak.
One of them said, “We have all been burned by insurance companies. Monarchs not the only one, but they are the biggest. You are taking them on for all of us. Dozens of riders nodded. Leather vests, roadwoman faces, scars etched into skin. You are not alone. Another said, we have got your back.
For the first time in weeks, hope flickered the blood oath. That night, as we rode out into the desert with our new allies, headlights cutting through the darkness, my phone buzzed again. Another video. This time it was not Jordan. It was my granddaughter. She sat in a dim room, tears streaking her face. A masked man’s voice behind the camera said, “Wayne Patterson, last chance. Sign the settlement or she pays the price.” The video cut to black.
My vision blurred. My hands shook on the handlebars. Wayne Bear shouted over the roar of the engines. I did not answer because in that moment the line between justice and vengeance blurred and I knew part nine would not just be a trial, it would be a war. Part nine, the trial of truth.
The courtroom was colder than I expected, not just the air conditioning. something deeper. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones when you realize the next words spoken could rewrite your entire life. We sat at the plaintiffs table me docar hammer marrier at the front with her folders stacked like ammunition across from us Monarch Mutual’s army. Four lawyers in thousand suits.
Tyler Morrison in the middle like their crown prince. His bleached tips freshly toned. A smug grin plastered across his face. Behind them. The VP with the shark smile sat in the gallery watching like a general surveying a battlefield. The judge entered court is now in session. Patterson at All versus Monarch Mutual Insurance Company. Opening shots. Mary Rose first.
Her voice carried steady, clear. This case is not about motorcycles. It is not about paint. It is about a promise. A promise that when Americans pay their premiums, when they trust insurance companies with their futures, they will be protected when disaster strikes.
Monarch Mutual broke that promise not just to these men, but to hundreds of families. And when my clients sought justice, Monarch retaliated with lies, smear campaigns, even threats. The jury leaned forward. The reporters scribbled. Then Monarch’s lead attorney stood tall, silverhaired, voice dripping with condescension. This case is nothing more than a stunt. A group of aging bikers seeking a payday after one of their own encouraged a viral prank. Monarch Mutual has always acted responsibly.
The plaintiffs, however, have a long history of criminal behavior, financial instability, and dishonesty. This is not about justice. This is about greed. He turned, gesturing toward Tyler. And this young man, this activist has been unfairly maligned in the process. Tyler stood boowing slightly like he was at an awards show.
Some jurors rolled their eyes. Others smirked. The battle lines were drawn. Testimonies of pain. Maria called her first witnesses. A widow who lost her husband’s life. insurance payout to a technicality. She broke down on the stand holding a foreclosure notice. A veteran denied coverage for surgery, left with medical debt.
He rolled in on a wheelchair, his prosthetic leg gleaming under the lights. A mother clutching photos of her sick daughter, denied cancer treatment because of a pre-existing condition. Her voice cracked as she said. Insurance was supposed to mean hope. Monarch made it mean despair. Each story hit like a hammer. The jury shifted uncomfortably. Reporter scribbled faster. This was not just about us anymore.
It was about everyone Monarch had buried. Tyler takes the stand. When Monarch called Tyler, the room buzzed. [Music] Cameras flashed. He put on his best performance. Tears welling in his eyes. Voice quivering. I never wanted any of this. He said, I just wanted to raise awareness. Those bikers, he pointed at us.
They attacked me online, tried to ruin me. Monok stood by me. They taught me about responsibility. Insurance is about protecting what matters. And they helped me protect my car, my life, my future. They are the reason I sleep at night. Maria stood, arms folded. Morrison, did not mutual pay your insurance premiums? Tyler froze. I do not recall. Maria held up the saponid documents.
Then let me refresh your memory. Here are your policies. Jucati, paid in full by Monarch Mutual itself. Not you. The jury’s eyes widened. Reporter’s pins scratched furiously. [Music] Tyler sputtered. that is that is part of their program. They believe in me. Maria’s voice cut sharp.
So while my clients claims were denied while families lost homes, children lost treatment, you received full coverage on luxury vehicles because you had followers. That is not responsibility, Morrison. That is hypocrisy. The room erupted. The judge banged his gavvel. Tyler’s mask cracked. The smug grin faltered. The boardroom bombshell. Maria’s next move was the leak.
The grainy video played on the courtroom screen. Monarch executives around a table. The VP’s voice clear. If the bikers do not take the settlement, unleash the smear campaign. Accidents happen. Gasps filled the room. Monarchus lawyers leapt to their feet. Objection. Fabricated. Deep fake. But Maria had come prepared. She called Jordan. He limped to the stand. Bruises faded but visible.
He swore under oath that monarch as men abducted him. beat him, forced him to recant, he would hidden the video on a secure drive. Waiting for this moment, the jury’s faces hardened. The judge leaned forward, eyes sharp, the tide was turning, the personal attack. Then Monarch struck back. Their attorney pulled out a file.
Patterson, he said, “Is not it true you were arrested in 1982 for assault outside a bar? I clenched my jaw.” “Yes, and I served my time.” “And is not it true you have had financial difficulties, including delinquent bills and a mortgage in a rar.” “Yes,” I said flatly. He sneered. So perhaps this lawsuit is not about justice at all.
Perhaps it is about money, a desperate man’s attempt to cash in on his past. Marrier objected, but the damage was done. The jury glanced at me with doubt. Manach knew how to cut deep. And then my heart stopped. The lawyer pulled out a still frame. My granddaughter from the kidnapping video. Patterson, are you willing to risk your family as safety for this crusade? The room gasped. Maria shut up. Objection.
Relevance. Threatening material. The judge’s gable thundered. sustained. That image will be stricken. Counselor, you are on thin ice. But the message was clear. Monarch was not afraid to play dirty, and they wanted me to know they still held the knife. The breaking point. During recess, Bear grabbed me by the arm. His eyes were wild.
They have got your granddaughter, Wayne. You can keep this up. Sign whatever they want. Just get her back. Doc shook his head. If we fold now, Monarch wins. Every family out there loses. My hands shook. My wife’s photo in my wallet felt heavier than ever. I would promised her to fight with truth, not fists.
But truth felt like a death sentence now. Maria s gambit. When the court resumed, Maria pulled her final card. She called the monarch VP himself. The womb buzzed. The man stroed to the stand, arrogance dripping from his tailored suit. Maria smiled faintly. under oath. Can you confirm Monarch Mutual has a program called Monarch Creators paying influencers to promote responsibility? Yes, he said smoothly.
It is public record. And can you confirm Tyler Morrison was one such influencer? Yes. Maria’s eyes narrowed. Can you also confirm Monarch denied hundreds of claims while funding this program? He smirked. Claims are denied for valid reasons. Influencer programs are separate. Separate. Marius voice sharpened. So while a mother begged for her daughter’s cancer treatment, you funneled millions into social media sponsorships. His smile faltered.
“Objection argumentative,” his lawyer stammered. The judge waved it off. “Answer the question.” The VP’s jaw clenched. “Yes.” The courtroom erupted. The verdict looms. The judge banged his gavl, calling for order. “We will recess for the day. Closing arguments tomorrow. Jury deliberation to follow. As we left, reporters swarmed. [Music] Cameras flashed.
The world was watching, but all I could think about was my granddaughter. That night, another text buzzed on my phone. A video. She sat in the same dim room, tears on her cheeks. The masked voice spoke again. Wayne Patterson. Tomorrow you choose the court or your family. Truth or blood. One verdict ends this case. The other ends her life.
The video cut. I stood in the desert night. My Harley growing beneath me. The stars sharp overhead. My brothers waited, their faces grim. Tomorrow was not just the trial of truth. It was the trial of my soul. Part 10. From heaven to home. Warning came heavy. The courthouse loomed like a cathedral of judgment. Its stone pillars catching the desert sun.
My brothers stood beside me in their vests. leather worn, faces lined with scars and worry. Maria carried her folders tight against her chest, her eyes sharper than I would ever seen them. But my heart was not in the case. It was with my granddaughter somewhere in a room I could not reach, a hostage to a billion dollar company willing to kill a child to bury the truth.
As we walked into court, I whispered to myself, “Sarah, if you are watching from heaven, give me the strength to do this.” Closing arguments. Maria stood first. Her voice was calm, deliberate, but fire burned beneath each word. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the testimonies. You have seen the documents. Monarch Mutual is not an insurance company.
It is a machine designed to deny, delay, and destroy. My clients are not just seven bikers with vandalized motorcycles. They are symbols of every American who has paid faithfully, trusted deeply, and been betrayed. Insurance is supposed to mean peace of mind. But in monarch’s hands, it means profit over people.
It means a child denied cancer treatment while an influencer gets his luxury cars fully covered. It means widows evicted, veterans abandoned, families shattered, all while monarch bankrolls propaganda campaigns to protect their image. You hold the power to stop it, to say enough, to remind these corporations that a promise means something.
That insurance is not a game but a lifeline. Deliver justice not just for my clients, but for every family who has heard the words, claim denied. Silence hung heavy after she finished. Jurors shifted, faces tense, some with eyes glistening. Then monarchs lead attorney rose. Smooth, confident, cold.
These men are no heroes. They are opportunists. The lawyer spins sobb stories. But at the end of the day, this is about money. They want to line their pockets at the expense of a company that has provided security to millions. Yes, Monarch partners with influencers. Yes, mistakes happen, but a few bad cases do not outweigh decades of service.
To punish monarch is to punish the very foundation of insurance itself. Ask yourselves, do you want chaos or do you want stability? Do you want the reckless words of bikers or the responsibility of an institution? He sat smug, certain. The judge gave instructions, the jury filed out, and the waiting began.
The threat comes due during recess. I stepped outside for air. The desert wind whipped through the courthouse steps. My phone buzzed. Another video. My granddaughter again. Same dim room. This time, her wrists bound, her eyes wide with terror. The last voice. Last chance. Wayne, tell your lawyer to drop the case before verdict or she dies. My knees buckled.
The phone slipped from my hands. Bear caught me before I hit the steps. Wayne, what is it? I showed him the video. His face went pale. Jesus Christ. [Music] Hammer growled. We can tea wait anymore. We find her. Maria joined us. Her eyes scanning the video. Wait, look at the background. The wallpaper.
See it? That is the old desert star motel off Highway 983. Closed for years. That is where they have got her. Adrenaline surged through me. Then we ride the rescue ride. We roared out of the courthouse. Seven engines screaming like thunder. Other bikers are allies from Arizona. California, Texas fell in behind. A convoy of steel and fury. The Desert Star Motel rose out of the sand like a skeleton.
Windows boarded. Paint peeling. We surrounded it. Headlights cutting the dusk. Bear kicked the door down. Inside, shadows scattered. Two men in black suits bolted for the back. Hammer tackled one, his fist flying. Doc moved like he was 30 years younger, dragging the other down, zip tea snapping around his wrists.
And there, behind a locked door, my granddaughter. She sobbed as I cut her ropes. clinging to me with tiny arms. Grandpa, I held her tight, my chest breaking open. I have got you, sweetheart. You are safe. But as we left, I saw the VP’s car peel away into the desert. Taillights vanishing. This was not over. Back to court.
We stormed back into the courthouse just as the jury filed in. My granddaughter safe in the arms of my daughter in the gallery. [Music] Maria whispered. Wayne. Thank God. The judge banged his gavvel. Jury, have you reached a verdict? The foreman stood. We have, your honor, time slowed in the case of Patterson at all versus Monarch Mutual.
We find in favor of the plaintiffs. Gasps erupted. The gallery exploded. The foreman continued. Voice steady. We award damages in the amount of $20 million plus punitive damages of $100 million to be distributed among the plaintiffs in the class. My knees nearly gave out. Doc wept openly. Bear clutched his vest. Shaking Monarch’s lawyer sat stonefaced.
But Tyler Tyler collapsed in his chair. The mask shattered. his empire crumbling live on every camera in the room. Aftermath. The days that followed were a blur. News headlines screamed. Monok Mutual exposed. Jury awards $120 million. Clips of Marius closing argument went viral.
Families we would never met sent letters thanking us for fighting. Monarch’s stock plummeted. The VP resigned for personal reasons. Investigations opened into fraud, intimidation, even kidnapping. And Tyler Morrison, his sponsors fled. His accounts bled followers by the thousands. His name became a meme for hypocrisy. Pulling a Tyler meant selling out for clout. We did not gloat. We did not celebrate. We just rode.
[Music] We wess speech. A week later at a press conference outside Eddie East diner. Reporters thrust microphones in my face. I held my granddaughter’s hand as I spoke. This was never about money. This was about promises. My wife gave me a Harley and asked me to use it to help people. Monarch promised to protect families and betrayed them. Insurance is not supposed to be a scheme. It is supposed to be trust.
We fought not just for ourselves but for everyone who is heard the words claimed denied. We fought because kindness, responsibility and second chances still matter in this world and we want stop fighting. Not until insurance means what it is supposed to mean. Hope. Applause erupted. [Music] Cameras flashed.
For once, the story was not about old bikers versus a ticktoker. It was about justice. Tyler’s visit. A month later, as the sun set over the desert, a beat up Honda Civic pulled into my driveway. Tyler stepped out, his hair was its natural brown now. No cameras, no smirk, just a broken kid.
I came to say I am sorry, he muttered for everything. I thought it was just content. I did not know. I did not know how far they would go. I studied him. The kid who poured paint on my wife’s last gift. The kid who mocked us, ruined us, almost got my granddaughter killed. And yet, my wife’s voice echoed. Promise me you will give people second chances. I handed him a flyer.
We have got a charity ride next week. Kids with cancer, if you want to make it right, show up. No cameras, no followers, just work. He nodded, tears in his eyes. I will be there from heaven to home. The Desert Eagles still meet at a deder every Saturday. Same booth, same waitress, same coffee that tastes like burnt tires.
But something is different now. There is laughter again. Families we helped stop by to say thanks. Kids climb on our bikes. Their parents smiling through tears. And hanging on the diner wall is a framed newspaper clipping. Bikers defeat Monarch Mutual and historic trial.
Below it, a smaller frame, a photo of my wife. Sarah smiling on the day she gave me that Harley. Sometimes I sit beneath it, my granddaughter on my lap. And whisper, “We did it, Sarah. We kept the promise because in the end it was not about motorcycles or even insurance. It was about turning pain into purpose, promises into legacies, and strangers into family.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt at.
