"I know. But someone told them we do. That's the problem."
The search takes over an hour. Agent Monroe's team catalogs every inch of the bar with meticulous attention to detail. They photograph the memorial wall where we've mounted patches and photos of fallen Brothers. They inventory the liquor stock behind the bar. They examine the pool tables and the leather furniture that's seen years of Brotherhood gatherings. They check the kitchen, the storage rooms, and the bathrooms.
They find nothing because there's nothing illegal here.
I watch Agent Monroe work, noting the way she moves through the space with methodical precision. She's not just looking for weapons. She's reading the room, building a profile of our operation, gathering intelligence about who we are and how we function. Calculated. Thorough.
I've done the same thing in hostile environments. Cataloged details, identified weaknesses, built dossiers on targets. She's good at it. Professional. Disciplined.
Makes her more dangerous. Also makes her more interesting than she should be.
When her team finishes with the main floor, she approaches me again. "We'll need to see any additional areas of this building. Storage rooms, offices, anything connected to the address on the warrant."
My pulse stays steady. She's being careful, staying within the bounds of what the warrant covers. "This building is just the bar and clubhouse. You've seen everything. Shop is at a different location on Harbor Street."
"No storage areas? No other rooms we haven't accessed?"
"You've been through every room in this building." I gesture around. "Kitchen, storage, bathrooms, office. That's it."
She holds my gaze for a long moment, and I can see her weighing whether to push harder. The warrant is specific to this address, and she knows it. "I'd like to verify the rear exit; make sure I have a complete picture of the property boundaries."
Fuck. I can't refuse without raising suspicion but letting her see the pathway to the Forge creates exactly the kind of question I don't want her asking.
"No problem." I lead her down the hallway, Shaw falling into step behind us. The back door opens onto a small concrete area used for deliveries and trash pickup. Beyond that, across a narrow courtyard, sits the two-story brick building. Nondescript, no signage, windows on the second floor but none on the ground level. Could be storage. Could be offices. Could be anything.
Agent Monroe's gaze tracks across the courtyard to the building. "What's that structure?"
"Private property. Not part of the bar. Different address, different owner. Your warrant covers 247 Waterfront Avenue only." I keep my tone professional, factual.
"Owner's name?"
"You'd need to check county records for that information."
It's not technically a lie. The Forge is owned by a separate LLC, legally distinct from the Iron Brotherhood MC and Ironside Bar. Will and I set it up that way when we founded the Forge, specifically to create a firewall between our public operations and our private club. It was a tactical choice, and it's proving especially valuable right now.
Agent Monroe pulls out her phone and makes a note. "What's the address of that building?"
"249 Waterfront Avenue." I watch her type it in. She's documenting everything, building a file, connecting dots. She'll run the address through county records, find the LLC, trace the ownership back to Will and me, and realize we own both properties.
Then she'll be back with another warrant.
She takes photos of the courtyard and the brick building, careful documentation for her investigation. "I'll be verifying ownership through official channels. If there's a connection between that property and your club, we'll need to discuss it further."
"Understood. We've got nothing to hide. When you verify ownership and see it's separate from the bar, you'll see we're cooperating fully."
Her expression suggests she doesn't quite believe me, but she can't push further without overstepping her warrant authority. Smart enough to know that and professional enough not to cross that line.
"Thank you for your cooperation," Agent Monroe says, tucking her phone away. "Let's head back inside and finish up."
We return to the main bar where her team is wrapping up their documentation. They've gone through every room, photographed every corner, cataloged everything that couldpotentially be relevant to their investigation. Professional, thorough, and ultimately unsuccessful.
"Surveillance footage," Agent Monroe says to Danny. "I'll need copies going back six months."
"Already queued up." Danny hands her a flash drive. "Digital files, organized by date and camera location. You'll find everything you need."
"Business records?"
"Email them to you by end of business tomorrow," Will offers. "Purchase orders, sales receipts, financial statements. Everything is documented and above board."
