Chapter 3 - Unraveling the Lost Years
The harsh neon lights of the precinct waiting room buzzed softly overhead, casting a clinical glow over the stainless-steel chairs. But Brick—whose real name was Leo Vance—paid no attention to the surroundings. He sat rigidly on the edge of the seat, holding a steaming paper cup of black coffee in hands that still shook slightly, while his mother, Clara, rested comfortably in a cushioned medical cot in the adjoining triage bay, wrapped in three heavy wool blankets and sipping warm broth.
Officer Vance walked into the room, holding a thick manila folder containing the initial intake reports and historical missing persons files. He pulled up a chair across from Leo, his stern expression replaced by one of profound gravity.
“We ran her fingerprints and cross-referenced the name she gave us,” Vance began quietly, sliding a faded, yellowed missing persons flyer across the table. The photograph on the paper showed a vibrant, smiling woman with bright blonde hair—a stark contrast to the broken, weather-beaten soul they had rescued from the sidewalk. “Clara Vance. Reported missing twenty-two years ago during the great industrial district fire. The official report stated she perished in the collapse. The building burned to ash, and no remains were ever positively identified.”
Leo stared down at the photograph, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched violently beneath his skin. “She didn't perish,” Leo said, his voice thick with suppressed rage and sorrow. “The man who owned that tenement—a slumlord named Marcus Vance, unrelated to you—deliberately torched the building for insurance fraud while the tenants were trapped inside. My mother managed to escape through the basement vents, but she hit her head, lost her memory from severe trauma, and wandered out into the freight yards. By the time I woke up in the hospital days later, social services told me my entire family was dead.”
Vance’s eyes widened slightly as he listened to the dark history. “And you spent all these years looking for her?”
“Every single day,” Leo answered, looking up, his dark eyes burning with unyielding determination. “I built my life, my club, and my network from the gutter up just to find the bastards who destroyed my family. I searched every homeless shelter, every hospital ward, and every soup kitchen in three states. And today... I almost walked right past her because she was invisible to everyone else on that street.”
“Well, you found her,” Vance said gently, tapping the folder. “And legally, her disappearance was never officially closed due to anomalies in the initial arson investigation. If she has her memory back—even partially—we have enough living testimony to reopen the cold case, subpoena the original property deeds, and bring down the people who put her out on that street.”
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Leo stood up slowly, towering over the desk, his leather vest creaking as he squared his massive shoulders. His grief had completely crystallized into a cold, lethal focus. The men who had stolen his childhood, ruined his mother’s mind, and left her to rot on the pavement were still out there living in luxury. And now, the terrifying biker had a very score to settle.
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