Hudson kept his eyes locked on the closed curtains. "Did you see Winston force her inside?"

The question arrived faster and sharper than the director expected. "Well, no, not exactly, but he interfered with authorized care—"

Hudson didn't answer. Something about the man's bureaucratic phrasing rubbed him the wrong way. Before he could press the issue, the front door opened.

Winston stepped onto the porch. His soaked postal jacket was gone, replaced by a plain work shirt. He looked calmly at the sea of motorcycles, then directly at Hudson.

"Your mother is safe," Winston said. "That is all that matters right now."

Hudson took several heavy steps toward the porch. "Then let me see her."

"You will," Winston nodded once.

The fake charity director immediately stepped forward, raising his voice for the crowd. "This is not how legal custody works!"

Winston ignored him completely. That caught Hudson's attention. Most guilty people argued when accused. Winston acted as though the man in the expensive jacket barely existed. The retired postmaster rested one hand on the porch railing and looked down at the biker.

"Before you do anything," Winston said, his voice carrying easily in the damp air, "ask yourself why your mother's mailing address changed three weeks ago."

Several riders exchanged confused looks. Hudson frowned, his anger momentarily derailed. "What does mail have to do with this?"