Chapter 7 - The Bloodline of Ashgrove Street
By five o'clock that evening, the sun began to dip behind the horizon, painting the clouds in streaks of deep gold and crimson.
Ashgrove Street was transformed.
The constant rumble of heavy engines filled the air, but it wasn't the Silver Blade gang. A fleet of twenty pristine black town cars lined both sides of the street, blocking off all traffic from the main boulevard. Dressed in immaculate dark suits, thirty quiet, disciplined men stood at ten-yard intervals along the sidewalk, their hands folded neatly in front of them, securing the entire neighborhood with absolute precision.
The neighbors, who had lived in fear of street thugs and petty criminals for years, opened their windows in awe. For the first time in a decade, Ashgrove Street was the safest place in the state.
A heavy moving truck sat in the driveway of Number 40—the Dixon house.
Under the sharp supervision of Leo, six men were efficiently packing up the Dixons' belongings. Big Dan Dixon, his wrist now properly set in a heavy cast, stood on the curb alongside his weeping wife and terrified son. They held only three worn suitcases between them.
"Where are we supposed to go?" Big Dan sobbed to Leo, his arrogance entirely gone. "We don't have any money left! The bank froze my accounts an hour ago!"
Leo didn't look at him as he checked his watch. "The four o'clock bus to the southern border leaves in twenty minutes. I suggest you start walking. If you are still in this county by sunset, the local authorities will arrest you for the twenty years of tax fraud you've committed."
Tyler Dixon, the boy who had bragged about being in a gang, looked over at the porch of Number 42.
Kayla stood there, leaning against the wooden railing, holding a hot cup of tea. Milo sat proudly beside her, his silver tag gleaming brilliantly in the fading light of the afternoon sun.
Tyler caught Kayla’s eye and quickly looked down at his shoes, his face burning with shame and fear.
"Mommy..." the boy whispered, grabbing his mother's coat. "Is she going to kill us?"
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Mrs. Dixon looked at Kayla, then down at her son, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks. "No, Tyler. She isn't going to touch us. That's the worst part... she didn't even have to lift a finger to destroy us."
The Dixon family turned and began their long, humiliating walk down the middle of Ashgrove Street, their three small suitcases scraping against the wet pavement, watched by every neighbor they had spent years tormenting.
