“We have documentation indicating prior affiliation between current ownership and a nationally recognized motorcycle organization that has been linked to interstate investigations.”
He doesn’t have to say criminal. The implication hangs there, thick as humidity.
He lifts a slim folder, tapping it lightly against the podium. “In light of this information, I am requesting that the council consider temporary licensing modifications while a comprehensive review is conducted.”
Mayor Hartwell frowns faintly. “What kind of modifications, Mr. Wren?”
Benjamin nods politely, because he’s been waiting for that. “First, quarterly financial disclosures submitted directly to the council for the next fiscal year. Full transparency beyond standard filing requirements.”
A low murmur ripples through the room.
I don’t move.
Judge McDowell looks at me. “Mr. Hayes, would that pose an issue?”
“It’s redundant,” I reply evenly. “Our financials are already filed per state law.”
Benjamin smiles without warmth. “Redundancy builds trust.”
I don’t look at him. “So does consistency.”
He continues as if I didn’t speak.
“Second, a mandatory third-party security audit conducted by an external firm approved by the council.”
Finn shifts behind me.
Zane goes very still.
Mayor Hartwell blinks. “We’ve never required that for any other establishment.”
“Correct,” Benjamin says lightly. “Few other establishments come with this particular… history.”
There’s that word again.
History.
Judge McDowell turns to me. “Do you object to a security audit?”
“I don’t object to inspection,” I say. “We pass them when needed.”
“This would be more thorough,” Benjamin adds. “Proactive.”
I meet his gaze.
“Proactive against what?” I ask.
He spreads his hands. “Risk.”
He doesn’t need to define it. The room will do that for him.
“And finally,” he continues, “restricted operating hours pending completion of the review. A temporary rollback to midnight closing.
There it is.
The real hit.
The Hollow makes its money after midnight.
