"How big?"
"Big enough that people disappear."
"Like my father."
Thomas didn't answer.
Adrian walked toward the door.
Thomas called after him.
"There is one thing you need to know."
Adrian stopped.
"The Black Corner doesn't care about your past."
"What do they care about?"
"Your future."
Adrian turned.
"Why?"
"Because you're fighting for the heavyweight championship next month."
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
"How do you know that?"
Thomas smiled bitterly.
"Because they already know who is supposed to win."
The Fight That Was Already Written
The championship fight was announced three weeks later.
Adrian Cross versus Julian Mercer.
Twenty rounds of anticipation were compressed into four weeks of television commercials, interviews, posters, and arguments.
Mercer was twenty-eight.
Twenty-three wins.
Two losses.
A former Olympic medalist.
Technically brilliant.
Fast.
Patient.
Unlike Adrian, he rarely knocked opponents out.
Their styles were completely different.
Adrian attacked like a storm.
Mercer fought like a mathematician.
The media called it the perfect matchup.
Nobody knew that Adrian had stopped sleeping.
Every night, he opened the notebook.
Every night, he found something new.
Payments.
Names.
Initials.
Dates.
And eventually, one page that frightened him more than anything else.
The championship fight was already listed.
Under the date was an amount of money.
Then two words:
Round seven.
Adrian showed it to Coach Reed.
Reed stared at the page.
"What does it mean?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think the fight is fixed?"
"I think someone expects it to be."
"Against Mercer?"
"Maybe."
Adrian looked at him.
"What if Mercer knows?"
Reed shook his head.
"We don't know."
"What if he doesn't?"
"Then you have to decide whether you're going to fight him."
Adrian laughed bitterly.
"That's my job."
"No."
Reed stepped closer.
"Your job is to survive."
Adrian looked at him.
"You spent my entire life telling me to win."
"I was wrong."
That sentence stopped him.
Reed rarely admitted being wrong.
"I thought winning would keep you safe," Reed said.
"Did it?"
"No."
The door opened.
Julian Mercer walked in.
Adrian immediately tensed.
Mercer raised his hands.
"I'm not here to fight."
"Then why are you here?"
Mercer looked at Reed.
"I got a message."
"What kind?"
"A warning."
He pulled out his phone.
The message was anonymous.
ROUND SEVEN. DO NOT RESIST.
Adrian stared at the screen.
Mercer looked at him.
"You got one too?"
Adrian nodded.
For several seconds, neither fighter spoke.
Then Mercer said:
"I don't know about you, but I don't plan on following instructions."
Adrian almost smiled.
"Good."
Mercer sat down.
"What do you know?"
Adrian told him everything.
Not all of it.
But enough.
When he finished, Mercer was silent.
"Your father was investigating this?"
"Yes."
"And you think the people behind it are still active?"
"Thomas says so."
Mercer leaned back.
"Why would they care about our fight?"
"Money."
"How much?"
"Enough."
Mercer nodded slowly.
"That's the only answer in boxing."
The door opened again.
A reporter stood outside.
"Adrian, you're needed for the press conference."
Adrian looked at Mercer.
"Are you coming?"
Mercer stood.
"Let's go."
The press conference was chaos.
Flashbulbs.
Microphones.
Questions.
The promoter smiled confidently.
"Two great fighters. One great night."
Adrian sat beside Mercer.
Then a reporter asked:
"Adrian, there are rumors you've been distracted during training. Any truth?"
Adrian looked at the cameras.
"No."
"Some people say the pressure is getting to you."
"No."
"Some say Mercer is the smarter fighter."
Adrian glanced at Mercer.
"He's good."
"Do you think he can beat you?"
Adrian leaned toward the microphone.
"Ask me after the bell."
The crowd laughed.
But Adrian noticed something.
At the back of the room stood a man in a gray suit.
Thomas had described him once.
Not by name.
By habit.
A man who never clapped.
Never smiled.
Never spoke.
The man touched two fingers to his wrist.
Then walked away.
Adrian's blood ran cold.
That night, someone broke into his apartment.
Nothing valuable was stolen.
Except the notebook.
The bucket remained.
The photographs remained.
The envelope remained.
But the notebook was gone.
Adrian called Reed.
"It's happening."
"What?"
"They took it."
"Leave the apartment."
"I can't."
"You don't know who you're dealing with."
Adrian looked around.
"I think I do."
On his kitchen table was a single piece of paper.
Four words.
WIN IN ROUND SEVEN.
Adrian folded it.
Then he did something he had never done before.
He called the police.
Seven Rounds
The championship night arrived.
Twenty thousand people filled the arena.
Music shook the building.
Lights swept across the crowd.
Adrian stood backstage with his hands wrapped.
He felt strangely calm.
Maybe because fear had finally become familiar.
Coach Reed tightened the tape around his wrist.
"Remember what we talked about."
Adrian nodded.
"Protect yourself."
"And?"
"Don't chase the knockout."
"And?"
"Trust the plan."
Reed looked at him.
"Most importantly?"
Adrian met his eyes.
"Don't let anyone else decide what happens in that ring."
Reed smiled.
"That's my boy."
Across the hallway, Julian Mercer was warming up.