Five bikers corner a 69-year-old at a Maine diner — but a single phone call from him shakes everything. The ding of Miller’s Diner’s bell rang crystal clear—the kind of sound you only hear in a coastal Maine town where the flag outside the post office still snaps in the Atlantic wind. That morning, Walter Harrison—ninety-six, pressed flannel, black coffee, a seat facing Route 1—looked like an ordinary old man keeping time with the day. Until five Iron Wolves motorcycles thundered into the lot, c

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