[Oakland Warehouse — March 12, 2009, 9:00 PM]
Cameron looked older.
Four days since his cryptic call, and the change was visible—shadows under his eyes, a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. Even Edmund, standing behind his father as always, seemed diminished. The confident young man who'd talked about expansion was gone, replaced by someone who kept checking the exits.
"Thank you for coming quickly." Cameron gestured to chairs arranged around a small table. "What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room."
Chibs and I took our seats. The warehouse felt different tonight—emptier, colder, the shadows deeper than usual.
"The Army Council is fracturing," Cameron said. "The peace process has held for years, but there are factions who never accepted it. They've been quiet, building strength, waiting for the right moment."
"And now they're moving?" Chibs asked.
"Now they're making demands. Territory, resources, operational control." Cameron's voice was bitter. "They want to restart the war. Not against the British—against each other."
"What does this mean for our arrangement?"
"Shipments may be interrupted. Our supply chain runs through channels controlled by people who are suddenly choosing sides." Cameron spread his hands. "I've tried to stay neutral. But neutrality is becoming impossible."
There it is. The pressure that's going to break Cameron Hayes. Not personal failure—political forces beyond his control, squeezing him until he has no good options.
"Who's leading the hardliner faction?"
Cameron's face went carefully blank. "Why do you ask?"
"Because if there's going to be a fight, I want to know who's fighting."
Silence. Cameron exchanged a look with Edmund—something complicated passed between them, the kind of communication that happened between family members who'd shared too much history.
"Jimmy O'Phelan," Cameron said finally. "He's been building support for years. Now he's making his move."
Beside me, Chibs went rigid.
---
[Oakland Warehouse — March 12, 2009, 9:30 PM]
Edmund's fear was visible.
While Cameron spoke with Chibs about the broader political situation, I watched the son. His hands moved constantly—adjusting his collar, touching his face, the restless energy of someone whose nervous system was screaming warnings he couldn't articulate.
"You're in deeper than you've told us," I said quietly, keeping my voice below the main conversation.
Edmund's eyes snapped to mine. "What?"
"The fear. It's not just about supply chains or politics. You've got personal exposure."
He looked away, but not before I caught the flicker of panic.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know what desperate looks like." I kept my tone neutral, almost sympathetic. "I've seen it before. Men who took on more than they could handle, made promises they couldn't keep, found themselves with enemies on all sides."
"You don't understand the IRA."
"I understand pressure. And I understand that when men feel trapped, they make bad decisions." I leaned slightly closer. "If you're in trouble—real trouble—there might be options you haven't considered."
Edmund was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"I owe money. To people who don't accept payment plans." His hands clenched. "If the pipeline fails, if the shipments stop... I can't cover what I owe. And these aren't men who negotiate."
There it is. Edmund's personal stakes, separate from his father's political problems. Debt to dangerous people, the kind that turns into leverage, that forces good men to do bad things.
"How much?"
"Enough." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Enough that if I can't pay, they'll take it out in other ways."
In the show, Edmund dies early in Season 3. Shot by his own father or by someone connected to the IRA chaos. Maybe this is why—debts that can't be paid, enemies that can't be satisfied.
Can you help him? Should you? Or is this a tragedy that can't be prevented?
"We'll figure something out," I said, not knowing if it was true. "Don't do anything stupid before we have a chance to talk."
"Easy for you to say."
"I know." And I did. The advice was hollow, the kind of thing people said when they didn't have real solutions. "But stupid is still stupid. Give me time."
---
[Oakland Warehouse — March 12, 2009, 10:00 PM]
Cameron pulled me aside as the meeting wound down.
"Cole. A word."
We stepped away from the others, into a corner where the shadows were deepest.
"I brought you into this because I trust you," Cameron said. His eyes were intense, searching. "Do you understand what that means? In my world, trust is currency. It's survival."
"I understand."
"I hope you do. Because what's coming..." He shook his head. "I've survived thirty years of this. The Troubles. The Peace. The endless cycles of violence and politics. But this feels different. This feels like something's breaking that can't be fixed."
"What do you need from me?"
"Stability. SAMCRO's business is the only reliable income we have right now. If that fails—if your club pulls back because of the risks—we're finished."
He needs you. Really needs you, in a way he didn't before. The power dynamic is shifting.
"The club won't pull back," I said. "Not without reason."
"Even if shipments are delayed? Even if the risks increase?"
"We'll adapt. Find alternative arrangements, temporary solutions." I met his eyes. "You've been a good partner, Cameron. That earns loyalty."
Something in his expression shifted. Not quite relief—Cameron Hayes was too old, too hard for pure relief—but something adjacent.
"You're not like the others," he said again, echoing words from months ago. "I knew that when we first met. I know it even more now."
"I'm exactly like the others. Just thinking further ahead."
"Perhaps." He almost smiled. "Perhaps that's what makes the difference."
---
[Highway 580, Westbound — March 18, 2009, 11:00 PM]
The drive back to Charming was long.
Chibs had stayed in Oakland, meeting with other IRA contacts, trying to get clearer information about the political landscape. I'd offered to stay, but he'd shaken his head.
"This is my history, brother. My ghosts. You've got your own to manage."
He wasn't wrong.
The highway stretched ahead, empty this late, just headlights and road and the particular darkness of California farmland at night. My mind raced through what I'd learned, what I'd observed, what it all meant.
Cameron is under pressure from IRA politics he can't control. Edmund is in personal debt that he can't pay. Jimmy O'Phelan is consolidating power, and Chibs has history with him that makes everything more complicated.
In the original timeline, this pressure eventually causes Cameron to do something desperate—something that results in Half-Sack's death and Abel's kidnapping. But what's the trigger? What specific moment pushes him over the edge?
I didn't have answers. Only observations, fragments of a picture that wasn't complete.
You have maybe three months. Maybe less. The Season 2 finale comes in spring—May or June, based on the show's timeline. That's your window to understand what's happening and figure out how to prevent it.
The IRA situation is beyond your control. You can't fix Belfast politics or pay Edmund's debts or stop Jimmy O'Phelan from making moves. But you can prepare. Can protect the people who matter. Can be ready for whatever's coming.
The lights of Charming appeared on the horizon. Home. Or as close to home as this world offered.
Prepare. Plan. Protect.
That's all you can do. That's what SAA means.
Time to prove you're worth the patch.
My phone buzzed. A text from Jax: "Church tomorrow morning. IRA update. Be there."
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