[SAMCRO Clubhouse — December 15, 2008, 11:00 AM]
Bobby's office door was already open when I arrived.
"Cameron Hayes wants a face-to-face. Tomorrow." He didn't look up from the papers on his desk. "Says it's time he met the new guy handling his arrangements."
"I thought Chibs was the primary contact."
"Chibs introduced the relationship. But Cameron wants to know who's actually running the logistics." Bobby finally looked up, expression serious. "The Irish are particular about who they work with. They want to take your measure."
Cameron Hayes. In the original timeline, he'd become a significant problem—entangled with Gemma, involved in Abel's kidnapping, eventually killed by his own son. A man with layers of complication that hadn't fully revealed themselves yet.
"What should I know going in?"
"Cameron's old school IRA. True believer in the cause, even if the cause has gotten complicated. His son Edmund is hungrier, more business-minded." Bobby leaned back. "They're both smart, both dangerous, and both watching for any sign of weakness."
"Understood."
"Chibs will make introductions. After that, you're on your own." He handed me a folder. "Shipment schedules, payment histories, everything you need to sound like you know what you're talking about."
I took the folder. Time to learn a new game.
---
[Oakland Warehouse — December 16, 2008, 2:00 PM]
The warehouse smelled of motor oil and old wood.
Chibs led me through a maze of shipping containers to a back office where two men waited. The older one—Cameron—sat behind a desk cluttered with paperwork. Gray hair, weathered face, eyes that had seen violence and made peace with it. His son Edmund stood by the window, younger, sharper, watching our approach with undisguised curiosity.
"Cameron. Edmund." Chibs's voice carried the particular warmth he reserved for countrymen. "This is Cole Ashford. The man I told you about."
Cameron studied me without rising. His gaze was thorough, clinical—the evaluation of someone who'd survived by reading people accurately.
"The one who led the LOAN operation."
"Part of a team effort."
"Modest." Cameron's accent was thick, Belfast roots showing through decades of American living. "Chibs says you're reliable. That you think before you act."
"Chibs is generous."
"Chibs is honest, which is rarer." Cameron gestured to a chair. "Sit. Let's talk."
The conversation that followed was a careful dance. Cameron asked about my background, my role in the club, my understanding of the gun trade. I answered honestly where I could, vaguely where I couldn't, never overstepping or overcommitting.
Edmund watched from his window post, occasionally interjecting questions of his own. He was testing me differently than his father—looking for ambition, for angles, for ways I might be useful or dangerous.
"You're not like most of them," Cameron observed after an hour. "The Sons. Most are... louder."
"I'm exactly like them. Just quieter."
Something shifted in Cameron's expression. Not quite approval, but acknowledgment. The beginning of respect.
"We'll see," he said. "The next shipment arrives Thursday. Handle it clean, and we'll talk again."
---
[Various Locations — December 17-22, 2008]
The shipments came like clockwork.
I threw myself into the IRA work with the same intensity I'd brought to the LOAN war—but this time directed toward understanding rather than destruction. Supply chains, routes, contacts, pricing structures. The system catalogued everything.
[INTELLIGENCE NETWORK EXPANDED: IRA OPERATIONS] [+75 XP]
Cameron's operation was more sophisticated than I'd expected. The guns came through multiple channels—some from overseas, some from domestic sources, all funneled through a network of shell companies and legitimate businesses that made tracing nearly impossible.
"The trick," Cameron explained during our third meeting, "is never touching the product yourself. Layers. Distance. Deniability." He smiled, cold and knowing. "The Americans think the war is over. We know better."
Edmund was warmer, more willing to share. He saw me as a potential ally—someone closer to his age, someone who might understand his frustrations with his father's caution.
"The old man's too careful," he said during a late-night loading. "There's money to be made if we expand. New markets, new connections."
"Careful keeps people alive."
"Careful keeps people small." He shrugged. "But what do I know? I'm just the son."
The tension between them is already there. Father and son pulling in different directions. In the original timeline, that tension leads somewhere dark.
Watch carefully. Learn what you can.
---
[Downtown Charming — December 22, 2008, 3:00 PM]
The jewelry store was smaller than I expected.
I'd been walking past it for months without noticing—one of those local shops that survived on reputation rather than foot traffic. But today I stopped, went in, spent twenty minutes examining options I couldn't afford.
"Looking for something special?" The elderly woman behind the counter smiled.
"Christmas gift. For someone who's been patient."
"Patient with you?"
"Very patient."
She showed me necklaces, bracelets, earrings. I settled on a silver pendant—simple, elegant, a small sapphire that reminded me of Sarah's eyes when she laughed.
"Good choice." The woman wrapped it carefully. "She must be someone important."
She's the reason I'm still human. The anchor that kept me from drowning in revenge.
"She is."
The box fit perfectly in my jacket pocket. Something solid, something real, something that represented a future I was finally starting to believe in.
[RELATIONSHIP MILESTONE: GIFT PURCHASED] [+25 XP]
Christmas. First one in this world. First one with someone worth celebrating.
Maybe, for once, things will stay calm.
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