“He passed ten years ago, sir. But he never forgot your kindness. Never forgot how you refused to take full payment. Said you were the only contractor who treated him with dignity.”
Harold’s eyes filled with tears. “He was a good man.”
Within two hours, twenty-three members of the Wheelers MC were in Harold’s yard. They had lumber from a member who owned a sawmill. Tools from another who was a contractor. Skills from men who’d spent their lives working with their hands.
But first, they had to deal with Harold’s children.
Jennifer showed up first, probably worried about property value. She saw the bikers and immediately called the police. “There are gang members at my father’s house!”
The police came. Tom explained the situation. The officer, who knew Harold from the senior center, told Jennifer to leave if she wasn’t there to help.
“This is my inheritance!” she actually screamed. “They can’t just modify my property!”
The officer looked at her with disgust. “Ma’am, it’s your father’s property. And these men are volunteering to fix what you refused to. I suggest you leave before I find a reason to arrest you for elder neglect.”
Michael arrived next, threatening lawsuits. One of the bikers, a man named James, turned out to be a lawyer. “I specialize in elder law,” he said calmly. “Would you like to discuss your legal obligations to your father? Because letting a ninety-one-year-old veteran live in condemned conditions while you drive a hundred-thousand-dollar car is actually criminal neglect.”
Michael left without another word.
The bikers worked for three days straight. But they didn’t just fix the porch. They rebuilt it completely. Made it wheelchair accessible. Added LED lighting. Built a beautiful ramp with rails. Fixed the roof leak. Painted the trim. Replaced the front door.
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