A photograph showing Daniel Cross standing beside a younger Samuel Reed.
And between them stood a third man.
Thomas Vale.
Adrian's heart began beating faster.
"Where are you going?"
Thomas answered quietly.
"Somewhere you can't follow me."
Then he walked out.
Adrian turned toward Coach Reed.
"What is in that bucket?"
Reed looked down at it.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he whispered:
"The truth."
The Things People Bury
That night, Westbridge Boxing Club closed early.
Nobody complained.
The fighters left one by one, whispering among themselves.
Adrian stayed.
So did Coach Reed.
The bucket sat on the desk in Reed's office.
Under the yellow light, it looked even older.
Adrian stood with his arms crossed.
"Open it."
Reed didn't move.
"You need to calm down."
"I've been calm for nineteen years."
"Adrian—"
"My father died nineteen years ago."
"I know."
"You knew Thomas Vale."
Reed looked away.
"Yes."
"You knew him before today."
"Yes."
"You knew my father."
"Yes."
Adrian leaned against the desk.
"And you knew something about the accident."
Reed's silence was answer enough.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"You lied to me."
"I protected you."
"From what?"
Reed sat down.
"From a story that would have destroyed your mother."
"My mother is dead."
"I know."
"Then there's nothing left to protect."
Reed closed his eyes.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Reed reached for the bucket.
The lid resisted.
He twisted it once.
Nothing.
Again.
It came loose with a metallic groan.
Inside were old photographs, a leather notebook, several newspaper clippings, a small cassette recorder, and a sealed envelope.
Adrian stared.
"That's it?"
"That's what he left."
"Who?"
"Your father."
Adrian's breathing changed.
Reed removed the notebook.
The cover was black and cracked.
Adrian recognized the handwriting immediately.
He had seen it on birthday cards.
On school forms.
On the few letters his father had left behind.
Daniel Cross.
Adrian reached for the notebook.
Reed hesitated.
"Before you read it, understand something."
"What?"
"Your father wasn't the man you think he was."
Adrian's fingers tightened around the notebook.
"Then who was he?"
Reed looked at him.
"He was better."
Adrian opened the first page.
There were dates.
Names.
Numbers.
Descriptions of boxing matches.
At first, it looked like a training journal.
Then Adrian noticed the names.
Some were fighters he knew.
Others belonged to people who had died years ago.
At the bottom of several pages were the same words:
Money moved. Fight fixed.
Adrian turned another page.
More names.
More dates.
More amounts.
Then he found his own.
His hands went cold.
Next to his name was a date from nineteen years ago.
The date of his father's death.
"What is this?"
Reed said nothing.
Adrian looked at him.
"What is this?"
"Your father was investigating match fixing."
Adrian laughed once.
It sounded empty.
"My father?"
"He worked as an accountant for a promoter before he opened the gym."
"You told me he sold insurance."
"He did both."
"Why?"
"Because he discovered money was being moved through boxing clubs."
Adrian looked at the notebook.
"How much?"
"Enough."
"Enough for what?"
"Enough to buy judges. Enough to pay fighters. Enough to destroy careers."
Adrian turned another page.
There was a list of names.
At the top was a promoter named Victor Kane.
Adrian knew the name.
Everyone in professional boxing did.
Kane had promoted some of the biggest fights of the previous twenty-five years.
He had retired years ago.
Or so Adrian thought.
"Where is Kane now?"
"Dead."
"When?"
"Six months ago."
Adrian looked up.
"And you never told me any of this?"
"I promised your father."
"Promised what?"
"That I'd keep you out of it."
Adrian slammed the notebook onto the desk.
"You didn't keep me out of anything!"
His voice echoed through the empty gym.
"You put my face on the walls. You turned me into the biggest fighter this place ever produced. And all this time, you knew my father died because of something connected to this?"
"We don't know that."
"Then why was my name in his notebook?"
"Because he was worried."
"About me?"
"About what would happen if they couldn't silence him."
Adrian stepped backward.
"They?"
Reed nodded.
"Your father wasn't investigating one man."
He opened the notebook to a later page.
A symbol had been drawn there.
A circle with a diagonal line through it.
Adrian stared.
"What does that mean?"
"That was their mark."
"Whose?"
Reed looked toward the dark gym.
"The organization."
Adrian almost smiled.
"You're telling me there's some secret organization controlling boxing?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"I'm telling you there were people who treated boxing like a business instead of a sport."
"That's not exactly a secret."
"No."
Reed pointed at the symbol.
"But what they did was."
The cassette recorder suddenly clicked.
Adrian jumped.
Neither man had touched it.
A voice came from the small speaker.
Old.
Distorted.
But unmistakable.
Daniel Cross.
"If you're hearing this, something has happened to me."
Adrian stopped breathing.
The recording continued.
"Sam, if you kept your promise, Adrian should be old enough now."
Adrian looked at Reed.