Chapter 7 - Because That’s What We Did
Months later, Marcus testified in Allison Briggs’s case.
He wore a black button-down instead of his biker vest because Rebecca advised it.
Mrs. Whitaker objected.
“Wear the vest. Let them see who they judged.”
Marcus compromised.
Black shirt.
Leather vest.
No chain wallet.
Rebecca sighed but said nothing.
On the stand, Allison’s attorney tried to make him look violent.
“You admit you struck Tyler Briggs?”
“Yes.”
“You admit he was a minor?”
“Yes.”
“You admit you are a former member of a motorcycle club with a criminal history?”
“Yes.”
The attorney paused, surprised by the calm.
Marcus looked at him.
“You want the list alphabetically or by year?”
A few people in the courtroom coughed.
The judge gave Marcus a look.
He lowered his head.
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
The attorney tried again.
“Were you angry?”
“Yes.”
“So you lost control.”
“No.”
“You struck a child.”
“I struck a seventeen-year-old who had just shoved a seventy-eight-year-old woman to the floor and was trying to run with her wallet.”
“You could have restrained him without striking him.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Marcus leaned forward.
“I’ve replayed it every night. In some versions, I get there sooner. In some, I grab his arm first. In some, Mrs. Whitaker never hits the floor. But I don’t get to live in those versions. I get the one where he shoved her, I reacted, and then his mother tried to turn the part I regret into the only part that mattered.”
The courtroom went quiet.
The attorney had no good follow-up.
Later, Tyler testified too.
He looked smaller in a dress shirt.
Younger.
Still angry.
But tired.
He admitted his mother planned the setup.
He admitted he chose Marcus because “people would believe he was dangerous.”
He admitted he took the red wallet.
He did not look at Mrs. Whitaker when he said it.
Then the prosecutor asked, “Did Mr. Hale attack you before you shoved Mrs. Whitaker?”
Tyler shook his head.
“No.”
“Did he continue hitting you after the slap?”
“No.”
“Did he release you when security ordered him to?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you say you didn’t do anything?”
Tyler’s mouth tightened.
He looked toward his mother, who sat rigid at the defense table.
Then he looked down.
“Because that’s what we did.”
That sentence ended Allison Briggs more effectively than any legal argument.
Because that was what they did.
Not one mistake.
A method.
A business.
A performance built on other people’s worst-looking seconds.
Allison was convicted on several counts. Tyler received juvenile consequences that included restitution, counseling, community service, and a strict ban from participating in online monetized confrontation content.
Mrs. Whitaker asked that part of his service include working at a senior food pantry.
Marcus thought she was being too kind.
She said, “No. I’m being specific.”
Tyler hated the pantry at first.
He lasted four minutes before rolling his eyes.
The pantry director, a retired Marine named Denise Carter, handed him a crate of canned beans and said, “Eye roll again and you’ll alphabetize soup until your grandchildren are ashamed.”
Tyler did not roll his eyes again.
Over time, something shifted.
Not magically.
May you like
Not enough to turn him into a saint.
But enough that he began seeing old people as people instead of props.
