Bikers Burned My House Down the Night Before the Bank Could Take It

He didn’t answer.

I called him again.

He didn’t answer.

I left a voicemail. I said, “Tommy, it’s your dad. I heard. Congratulations. I love you. I’m sorry. Whatever you need from me, it’s yours.”

Then I went home. Or what was left of home.

The lot was still smoking. There was yellow tape strung between the fence posts. The fire chief was there, a man named continue reading …