“You left them there?” he asked.
“They didn’t need an audience.”
“They need help.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
Dean looked toward the office windows. Beyond the dirty glass, eleven men were earning wages because Daniel had once refused to reduce them to a number.
Iron Harbor had nearly disappeared six years earlier.
Our former business partner, Leonard Pike, handled taxes, payroll, and supplier payments. The rest of us handled motorcycles. That arrangement worked until an Internal Revenue Service notice appeared on a Monday morning stating that payroll taxes had not been paid for three quarters.
Pike was gone by Tuesday.
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