“Okay, asshole. For the next hour, you are going to sit in this room and read everything Reagan has laid out for you.”  Tuck said tapping a thick envelope.  “Once you have read everything, the two of us are going to talk and figure out our next step.  What you aren’t going to do is go off half-cocked and try to leave because let me tell you, the shit in this envelope is going to destroy everything you thought was true and some of the people who you thought cared about your ugly ass.” Tuck got up, put the envelope in front of him, and walked to the door, but before he left he said, “I have three Prospects at the door and Blade is watching from the bar.  Do what I said and don't even try to leave this room or you and I will have problems.  You read every word in there until you can recite it back to me, understand?”

Tank didn’t like being treated like a child, but he guessed he deserved it, and the pounding in his head and his churning stomach were preventing him from putting up a fight, right now.

“Understood Prez, I sit here like a good little boy and do my homework.”

When the door slammed, it made Tank wince, damn, that fucking hurt.  He tapped the envelope with his finger, not really wanting to open it.  What the hell could Reagan have been up to and why wouldn’t she have told him herself.  It took him a good couple of minutes to open it up.  The first thing he found was a handwritten letter.

Dear Brayden,

You might be wondering why I started this letter with your given name, well, the answer is simple; Brayden was always nice to me.  He never once made me feel like trash, and he always respected my feelings, dreams, and achievements.  Tank, on the other hand, is a man that I have learned likes to hurt people, well not people, that honor seems to only be for me.  Mind you, I know you would never hurt me physically, but the damage you have caused in the last six months is monumental. 

That being said, I couldn’t let you go on thinking that night over ten years ago that ruined both our lives was your fault.  It wasn’t Brayden, you were set up.  I knew if I didn’t have all the pieces to that puzzle, you would never take me at my word, so I made a deal with Tuck.  That leads us to now. What you are going to find in here is going to hurt you, and I wish I weren't the one to do it, but I couldn’t leave this to anyone else. 

You will always be that boy to me, the one who promised me the world and made me believe I could do and be anything.  That the people who gave birth to me didn’t matter as long as I was a good person.  Remember that now more than ever.  I want you to be happy, and I want you to get a little of the Brayden I knew and loved back. 

I won’t be around anymore for you to take out your anger and pain on.  Please find it in your heart to forgive yourself and live. 

Love Always, Reagan.

The next page was a picture, and it made Tank loose the contents of his stomach.  Shit, the fucking accident that ruined four lives, the day he lost everything, his future, his girl, and his best friend.  Hell, what was she up to?

The next page was a prescription for his father; it was some kind of narcotic he had heard of it before, but couldn’t figure out why his old man would have needed it.  The next page showed a toxicology report on him on the night of the accident with the drug in his system.  Hell, to this day, he didn’t take anything stronger than aspirin.  He didn’t do well with drugs, and he knew damn well he hadn’t taken anything that day.  He was just supposed to drop George and Grace off, then go and pick up Reagan.  He wasn’t even drunk, having only drunk one beer with his Dad in celebration of his victory over the Devils at the homecoming game. 

As the pages turned, he found more and more damning information. A money trail from the mechanic who had worked on his car at his Dad’s insistence when it hadn’t needed anything because it was brand new.  Huge sums of money going to Grace and George’s families dated months before the accident. What the hell was that about? Fuck what was all this?

When he came to the end of the pile, he found another letter from Reagan, only this one was typed. 

Brayden,

You never did what you thought, the accident wasn’t your fault.  Six months ago, I overheard a conversation between your father and two other people.  He insisted that soon you would be back in the fold.  That they wanted you to join and possibly lead their fucked-up Club.  I’m not going to go into that because you will find out soon enough what it all entails.  I followed your father to a storage locker, and for the last six months, I have been going through it all. 

The accident which changed you happened because your father wanted it to happen. I don’t know why, but I know it’s true.  He drugged you, had your car tampered with, and paid off the victims.  He also paid off the police, hospital staff, and anyone else who might have clued you in to the real cause. 

I talked to George’s mom, and she is willing to talk to you; please do it, and she knows things that I don’t.  I didn’t ask her, only told her I knew the truth and you might be contacting her.  Please, you need to let this go before anything else happens.

Your Dad isn’t who you think he is.  He is an evil man. I’m not telling you this for any other reason than you need to know, and you also needed this proof, so that you can protect yourself.  Don’t let them suck you in, you’re better than that. Live your life like you always dreamed, free and happy,

Reagan.

Tank looked though the papers again, and by the third time, he was getting more and more pissed.  Shit, who the hell did this stuff to their own fucking kid and why?  That was the biggest question. Why the hell had his own father tried to destroy him?  What fucking Club was Reagan talking about? The only Club his father was a member of was the Country Club and no way in hell would he ever step foot in that place again. 

Fuck. Standing up quickly, he shoved the chair back. When it thudded into the wall, Tank decided he like that, so he started throwing and smashing other stuff.  Why the hell would his old man of done any of this shit? It had to be a lie.  There was no fucking way.  But shit, she laid it out, everything was there, returned checks, wire transfers, all with Jeremy Taylor's signature on them. 

There had to be another explanation, maybe George and Grace’s family blackmailed his old man.  That made more sense, the Taylors were wealthy, and Tank had royally fucked up, but that didn’t explain the other pay offs.  A tune-up in a car didn’t cost ten grand.  Hospital stays were expensive, but you didn’t pay doctors and nurses directly.