Adrian walked toward him.
Mercer looked up.
"Ready?"
"No."
Mercer smiled.
"Me neither."
The announcer's voice thundered through the arena.
The crowd erupted.
Adrian entered the ring.
For a moment, everything disappeared.
No conspiracy.
No father.
No bucket.
No Black Corner.
Only the ring.
Only the opponent.
The bell rang.
Round one.
Mercer moved beautifully.
Adrian pressed forward.
Neither man landed anything significant.
Round two.
Mercer caught Adrian with a clean right hand.
The crowd reacted.
Adrian smiled.
"Good shot."
Mercer nodded.
Round three.
Adrian landed a left hook.
Mercer stumbled.
The crowd exploded.
Round four.
Both men exchanged combinations.
Round five.
Adrian began finding the body.
Round six.
Mercer started slowing.
The seventh round approached.
Adrian returned to his corner.
Reed looked at him.
"How do you feel?"
"Fine."
"Then don't change anything."
The bell rang.
Round seven.
The arena became louder than ever.
Adrian looked toward the judges.
One of them was staring directly at him.
The gray-suited man stood behind him.
Adrian understood.
They were waiting.
He stepped forward.
Mercer attacked.
Adrian blocked.
Mercer threw a right.
Adrian slipped.
Then Mercer whispered:
"Now."
Adrian froze.
Mercer deliberately dropped his left hand.
For half a second, his jaw was exposed.
The easiest knockout opportunity Adrian had ever seen.
But something felt wrong.
He didn't punch.
Instead, he stepped backward.
The crowd booed.
Mercer looked surprised.
Then he smiled.
"Good."
Adrian heard Reed shouting.
"Stay disciplined!"
The round continued.
No knockout.
No fixed ending.
No obedient fighter.
At the bell, Adrian returned to his corner.
The gray-suited man disappeared.
Round eight.
Then nine.
Ten.
The fight became a war.
By round eleven, Adrian's left eye was swelling.
By round twelve, Mercer was bleeding from the nose.
By round thirteen, both men were exhausted.
There was no script anymore.
Only survival.
In the fifteenth round, Adrian landed a combination that nearly ended the fight.
Mercer survived.
In the seventeenth, Mercer nearly knocked Adrian down.
Adrian stayed upright.
The eighteenth.
The nineteenth.
The twentieth.
The final bell rang.
The crowd rose.
Adrian and Mercer stood in the center of the ring.
Neither knew who had won.
The judges read their cards.
Split decision.
Then the final score.
Adrian Cross had won.
But the victory felt different.
He had not destroyed Mercer.
He had not followed the plan.
He had fought the fight himself.
Mercer hugged him.
"You did it."
Adrian whispered:
"So did you."
Backstage, reporters surrounded them.
Then Coach Reed pushed through the crowd.
His face was pale.
"We found the notebook."
Adrian stared.
"What?"
"The police recovered it."
"Where?"
"At the arena."
Adrian frowned.
"How?"
Reed shook his head.
"It wasn't taken from your apartment."
"What do you mean?"
"It was planted."
Adrian felt cold.
"By whom?"
Reed handed him a photograph.
It showed the gray-suited man.
Standing beside him was the promoter.
And beside the promoter was someone Adrian recognized immediately.
A police detective.
The same detective who had taken Adrian's statement earlier that week.
Adrian looked up.
"Where are they?"
Reed shook his head.
"Gone."
Mercer walked toward them.
"What happened?"
Adrian showed him the photograph.
Mercer stared.
Then he said:
"We're not finished."
Adrian nodded.
"No."
He looked toward the empty hallway.
"Not even close."
What Daniel Left Behind
Two days after the fight, the police contacted Adrian.
The detective from the photograph had disappeared.
So had the promoter.
The official investigation expanded.
Names began appearing in newspapers.
Old cases were reopened.
Former fighters started speaking publicly about suspicious fights.
Some denied everything.
Others admitted to taking money.
The story grew.
But Adrian wasn't interested in the headlines.
He wanted the truth about his father.
He returned to Westbridge.
The gym was almost empty.
Coach Reed was sitting alone beside the ring.
The bucket sat on the floor.
The sealed envelope was still inside.
Adrian picked it up.
"Why didn't we open this before?"
Reed looked at him.
"Because your father told me not to."
"Until when?"
"Until you were ready."
Adrian smiled sadly.
"Was I ever ready?"
"No."
He broke the seal.
Inside was a letter.
The handwriting was Daniel's.
Adrian unfolded it.
My son,
If you're reading this, then I failed to protect you from the truth.
I'm sorry.
I wanted you to grow up believing that boxing was simple.
Work hard.
Keep your hands up.
Respect your opponent.
Never quit.
Those things are still true.
But boxing is also a business, and businesses attract people who care more about money than people.
I discovered that years ago.
I thought exposing them would be enough.
I was wrong.
What frightened me most was not that they could hurt me.
It was that they might use you.
I watched you train when you were six.
You had no idea what winning meant.
You only knew that you loved the sound of your gloves hitting the bag.
I wanted that boy to survive.
If I am gone, please remember this:
You are not your record.
You are not your titles.
You are not the number of people you have knocked down.