Chapter 6 - Eleven Witnesses, One Camera
Saturday brought a different kind of noise. Online, a clipped video of Gideon punching Wade had gathered thousands of comments. Some called him a thug. Others used the confrontation as proof that motorcycle riders should be banned from county roads. A local radio host pronounced his name incorrectly for ten minutes before announcing that “outside agitators” had hijacked a transportation dispute.
Gideon listened to none of it while he opened the workshop. He had spent twenty-six years maintaining heavy equipment and had built the Ridgetop Riders around a simple rule: nobody rode home alone after a breakdown. Now he was afraid his decision on the shoulder would overshadow the woman who had stopped the school bus.
Rosa arrived carrying a small hard drive and a paper notebook. “I checked the footage again. One continuous recording from the moment Wade threw her sign.”
“Did you give it to the lawyer?”
“Full file, yes. She'll send it with the timestamp and metadata. No music, no edits.”
He nodded. “Good.”
Rosa tilted her head. “You're not going to watch?”
“I remember what happened.”
“Then remember the part where she stood up after being knocked down and warned us anyway.”
He took a breath. “I'm trying.”
At Lois's house, Imani was trying something else: persuading her mother not to let every anxious neighbor use the damaged lane just because the bridge was closed. The culvert had been inspected by a local contractor, who recommended no traffic until a temporary plate and drainage repair could be designed.
“The road helped people once,” Lois said. “It can help again.”
“If we let a van fall through it, we'll be the second bridge in town.”
Lois closed her eyes. “Your grandfather would hate this.”
“He taught me how to look for cracks.”
They sat quietly until Ruby appeared with two glasses of water. “Mrs. Dent says a thing can be good and still need fixing.”
Lois smiled despite herself. “Mrs. Dent's going to give you homework forever.”
The lawyer Gideon had recommended, Patrice Holloway, arrived after lunch. A Black attorney in her forties, she specialized in employment disputes and land-use cases. She was careful about promises.
“I can challenge the easement application and help preserve your documents,” she said. “I can't guarantee when an investigation will finish. And I want you to understand a forged signature is an allegation until someone examines the source records.”
Imani nodded. “I want an examination.”
Patrice reviewed the hospital attendance record, the 4:12 a.m. clearance, and the terminated-network notice four minutes later. She drafted preservation letters to the county and Redbank, requesting retention of login histories, dispatch orders, and communications about the bridge. She also advised Lois not to sign the settlement Voss had offered over the phone.
“That's easy,” Lois said. “He hasn't asked me a question I wanted to answer yet.”
Later, June invited Imani to the workshop so the riders could discuss transportation support. Imani almost declined. She had begun to dread people treating her as a symbol. But she went because the detour was costing neighbors actual money, and the riders had offered trucks and drivers with clean records for pharmacy runs and grocery deliveries.
There were eleven riders in all. Some were Black, some white, one Latina, one Filipino American. Two were veterans; three had never served. Their common ground was the shop and the long miles they covered together. They did not wear patches claiming to belong to any real-world motorcycle club. They had made their own name after rebuilding a wrecked motorcycle on Ridgetop Road.
Gideon gave Imani the head of the table. “Tell us what would help.”
“Don't buy my mother a house,” she said.
He blinked. “Wasn't planning to.”
“People keep talking about saving us. We already have a house. We need the county to stop treating our ownership like an inconvenience.”
June grinned. “Then we need a schedule, not a surprise party.”
They arranged a volunteer shuttle for non-school needs, coordinated through the church office so neighbors could request rides without posting medical details online. A retired mechanic offered to inspect the temporary culvert design when one was ready. Gideon agreed that the group would not use Lois's lane until a qualified professional declared it safe.
Before they finished, Ruby approached Rosa with her purple notebook. “Can you help me show Mama something?”
She had drawn the first moment on the bus, looking through the window. Wade's SUV had been parked on the bridge side of the road. A worker in an orange helmet stood beside a short post, bending over it.
“I thought he was fixing a sign,” Ruby said. “Then it fell down.”
Rosa looked at Imani. “I didn't have the camera pointed that way.”
“Mrs. Greene's bus camera might,” Imani replied.
Patrice requested preservation of the vehicle video through the school district, without promising that it captured the scene. Imani told Ruby she had done enough and that adults were responsible for the next part.
That evening, the school transportation director called. The forward-facing bus camera showed someone carrying the ROAD CLOSED barricade into a Redbank pickup just before the bus arrived. The person's face was obscured, but the company logo and vehicle number were visible.
The director sounded shaken. “We were told the barricade had been cleared by the county.”
“Will you save the original?” Imani asked.
“Yes. I've already flagged it for retention.”
After the call, Ruby asked if the proof meant everyone would believe her mother now.
“I don't know,” Imani said. “But it means they won't have only my word.”
May you like
Her phone buzzed. Patrice had forwarded a public filing from Redbank: the company was seeking an emergency order permitting access across Old Mill Lane before the postponed hearing.
The next Monday, a judge would decide whether the family's road could be used while the dispute continued.
