Remembered him removing photographs from the walls.
"Do you regret getting in?"
Isaiah considered.
"No."
The answer surprised him.
At Crown Point, the situation was worse.
Reporters called.
Membership inquiries doubled.
Social media followers tripled.
Elena hated the attention.
Her business partner loved it.
Harrison Whitmore did not.
He arrived at eleven wearing a navy suit and anger like another layer of clothing.
"My son was humiliated by an employee."
Elena remained behind her desk.
"Your son challenged him."
"Why was a maintenance worker allowed inside the cage?"
"Because that maintenance worker has more combat experience than every active fighter here combined."
"That isn't the point."
"It is very much the point."
Harrison lowered his voice.
"I invested in this facility."
"You invested. You did not purchase authority over human beings."
He stared at her.
"I want Brooks fired."
Elena laughed.
"No."
Harrison looked shocked.
"No?"
"Correct."
"Then my support ends."
Elena's smile vanished.
That was serious.
Whitmore money funded travel, youth scholarships, equipment, and two coaching salaries.
Harrison knew exactly where to apply pressure.
"Think carefully."
Elena did.
Then said:
"I am."
He walked out.
Isaiah heard about the confrontation from another employee.
He found Elena that afternoon.
"Fire me."
She stared.
"No."
"You can't lose the program."
"I'm not firing someone because a donor's kid challenged him and lost."
"I don't need this job enough to cost ten other people theirs."
Elena stood.
"This is exactly the problem."
"What?"
"Men like Harrison spend money until everyone around them mistakes gratitude for obedience."
Isaiah said nothing.
Elena continued.
"If I fire you, what do I teach Chase?"
Isaiah looked toward the training room.
"Maybe he's not your responsibility."
"He's my athlete."
"Is he?"
She understood the question.
Was he her athlete?
Or her customer's son?
There was a difference.
Before she could answer, a teenage student knocked.
"Coach?"
"What?"
"There's someone here asking for Isaiah."
A woman stood in reception.
Mid-forties.
Dark hair.
She was holding an old photograph.
Isaiah recognized her immediately.
His stomach dropped.
Maria Mendoza.
Luis's older sister.
The last person Isaiah expected to see.
Maria did not hug him.
Isaiah did not expect her to.
They sat in the empty café.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Finally Maria placed the photograph between them.
Luis at nineteen.
Smiling.
Gloves raised.
Isaiah looked away.
"I saw the video," Maria said.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Everything."
She sighed.
"Isaiah, it's been thirteen years."
"I know."
"Apparently you don't."
He looked at her.
Maria's voice remained calm.
"My mother spent years trying to contact you."
Isaiah froze.
"What?"
"You changed numbers."
"I moved."
"We know."
"Why?"
Maria stared at him.
"Because she wanted to tell you she didn't blame you."
Isaiah swallowed.
"She said that publicly."
"She wanted you to hear it from her."
"I didn't deserve that."
Maria's expression hardened.
"There. That."
"What?"
"You decided what everyone else was allowed to feel."
Isaiah didn't answer.
"You decided Mom needed somebody to blame."
"You decided our family seeing you would make things worse."
"You decided Luis's death meant you no longer had the right to teach."
She leaned forward.
"You made all those decisions for us."
Isaiah felt defensive.
Then ashamed for feeling defensive.
Maria continued.
"Do you know why Luis fought you?"
"For money."
"He barely made anything."
"Then why?"
"He wanted to learn."
Isaiah looked at her.
"He watched your fights."
"He respected you."
Maria tapped the photograph.
"If he had lived, he wanted to ask if he could train with you."
Isaiah's eyes filled.
"Don't."
"I'm not trying to make you feel better."
"Good."
"I'm trying to make you stop turning my brother into a punishment you give yourself."
That sentence landed harder than Chase's shove.
Isaiah looked toward the cage.
Maria followed his gaze.
"You're still good."
"No."
"That boy didn't touch you."
"That doesn't mean I'm good."
"You know what I mean."
Isaiah shook his head.
Maria stood.
Before leaving, she placed another envelope beside the photograph.
"My mother wrote this ten years ago."
Isaiah stared.
"She died last winter."
"I'm sorry."
"She wasn't angry at you."
Maria walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
"But she would've been furious that you wasted this much time."
After she left, Isaiah sat alone for almost an hour.
He did not open the letter.
Not yet.
That evening Chase entered the gym after everyone else had gone.
His right eye was bruised.
Isaiah noticed.
"What happened?"
"Training."
"With who?"
"Different gym."
Isaiah stared.
Chase looked away.
"I needed real rounds."
"You mean people who didn't see the video?"
Chase's jaw tightened.
"Maybe."
Isaiah returned to cleaning.
Chase stood there.
Then quietly asked:
"How did you do it?"
Isaiah stopped.
"Do what?"
"Make me feel like I couldn't move."
Isaiah studied him.
The question contained no insult.
No performance.
Just curiosity.
"Balance."
Chase waited.
Isaiah picked up the mop again.
"Good night."
Chase looked disappointed.
But he left.
The next night, he returned with the same question.
For five days, Isaiah refused to coach Chase.
On the sixth, Chase arrived before sunrise.
Isaiah was cleaning locker-room mirrors.
"What time do you start?"
"Six."
"I know. I'm here."
"I noticed."
"Teach me."
"No."
"Why?"
"You have coaches."
"I want to know what you did."
Isaiah continued wiping the glass.
Chase stood behind him.
"My dad says you're a fraud."
Isaiah almost smiled.
"Then why ask?"
"Because I know what happened."
Isaiah put down the cloth.
"What happened?"
"I couldn't do anything."
"That bothers you."
"Obviously."
"Why?"
Chase frowned.
"Because I'm supposed to be good."
Isaiah turned.
"There."
"What?"
"That's your problem."
Chase rolled his eyes.
"You sound like Elena."
"Elena's smart."
"Everybody keeps telling me about ego."
"Not ego."
Isaiah leaned against the sink.
"Identity."
Chase's expression changed.
"You don't know me."
"No. But I know fighters."
Isaiah pointed toward him.
"You don't just want to fight well."
"You need being a fighter to tell you you're worth something."
Chase laughed defensively.
"Psychology from the janitor."
Isaiah picked up the cloth.
"And lesson's over."
Chase immediately regretted it.
"Wait."
Isaiah kept cleaning.
"I'm sorry."
No response.