The thirty motorcycles stopped outside the roofer’s shop, but Bertram had been clearer than I realized about what “taking care of it” meant. Several members of his club were retired tradesmen. One owned a roofing company. Another had spent twenty years investigating insurance fraud. They walked into the office carrying Dad’s receipt, photographs of the abandoned shingles, and copies of complaints they had already found from other elderly homeowners.
The roofer tried to leave through the rear door, slipped while rushing down the loading steps, and badly injured his arm. Nobody touched him. By the time police arrived, Bertram’s group had located five other families who claimed they had paid deposits for work that was never completed. One biker had even photographed stacks of customer contracts sitting openly inside the office before officers secured the building.
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