Chương 6
“Arizona.”
“Did he report it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Ethan looked at me.
“Because Raymond convinced him nobody would believe him.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Same thing he told my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Did you see Dustin hurt Cole?”
Ethan hesitated.
“Not the whole thing.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw the beginning.”
“Explain.”
“Dustin and Cole argued after training.”
“About what?”
“Cole said Dustin was becoming like Raymond.”
Ethan looked down.
“Dustin hated that.”
“What happened?”
“He shoved him.”
“Then?”
“Cole shoved back.”
“And?”
“Dustin snapped.”
The word bothered me.
People used it often.
As if anger was a separate creature that entered the body and took control.
As if people had no responsibility afterward.
“What did Dustin do?”
“He kept hitting him.”
The diner suddenly felt quieter.
“He didn’t stop when Cole went down.”
I stared at Ethan.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I don’t know because I was frozen.”
His voice cracked.
“I was standing there, and I was frozen.”
I did not say anything.
Because there was nothing useful to say.
Guilt did not need someone to add weight to it.
It carried enough.
“What made you finally talk?”
Ethan looked toward the window.
“Your daughter.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw her walk into the gym one day.”
“When?”
“About a month ago.”
I frowned.
“She came to watch Dustin train.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because she looked happy.”
That answer surprised me.
Ethan continued.
“She was smiling.”
His fingers moved around the coffee cup.
“She looked like someone who believed she was with a good man.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
“And I knew she was walking into the same room where I had seen what he was capable of.”
The waitress passed by.
Someone laughed at the counter.
A couple argued quietly near the window.
Normal life continued.
That was something I kept noticing.
The world rarely stopped when something terrible happened.
It just kept asking people to buy groceries, answer phones, and show up for work.
“Do you have proof?” I asked.
Ethan shook his head.
“Not enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to stop him.”
I leaned forward.
“What would be enough?”
He looked at me.
“Someone inside.”
“Inside where?”
“The gym.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
Then said,
“Raymond.”
I waited.
Ethan lowered his voice.
“Raymond keeps records.”
“What kind?”
“Payments.”
“To who?”
“People who owe him favors.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Why would he keep something like that?”
“Because people like Raymond don’t trust anyone.”
“That includes Dustin?”
Especially Dustin.
Ethan nodded.
“He thinks everyone leaves eventually.”
The pieces started connecting.
Not enough.
But enough to see the shape.
“Where are these records?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said he keeps them.”
“I said he keeps them. I never said I knew where.”
“Who would know?”
Ethan looked at me.
Then immediately regretted the answer forming in his head.
“No.”
I followed his eyes.
“Who?”
“Don’t involve him.”
“Who?”
“My brother.”
“Why?”
“Because if Raymond finds out my brother helped, he’ll destroy him.”
I leaned back.
“What does your brother do?”
Ethan looked miserable.
“He handles Raymond’s finances.”
The answer changed the room.
Not because it solved anything.
Because it opened another door.
A door that came with a cost.
“Your brother has access.”
“Yes.”
“And he knows what Raymond is hiding.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you warning me not to involve him?”
Ethan looked at me.
“Because you think this is a fight.”
He paused.
“It isn’t.”
The diner lights flickered above us.
“It’s a machine.”
I said nothing.
Ethan leaned closer.
“And machines don’t care who they hurt when you try to break them.”
I let Ethan’s words sit there.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I had spent enough years around conflict to know that charging at a problem without understanding its shape was how people got hurt.
A machine.
That was the word he used.
Machines had parts.
Weak points.
Patterns.
Failures.
You did not beat a machine by punching the biggest piece of metal you could find.
You found where everything connected.
“Your brother,” I said.
Ethan looked down.
“I shouldn’t have brought him up.”
“But you did.”
“I was tired.”
“That doesn’t make it untrue.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“My brother’s name is Noah.”
“What does he do for Raymond?”
“Accounting.”
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“And unofficially?”
Ethan did not answer.
He did not need to.
“Does Noah know what Raymond is doing?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because Noah doesn’t talk about it.”
I studied him.
“You trust your brother?”
Ethan looked almost offended.
“Of course.”
“Then why don’t you know?”
The question bothered him.
Good.
Not because I wanted to hurt him.
Because sometimes people protected themselves by refusing to examine the obvious.
Ethan looked toward the window.
“Because knowing means you have to act.”
There it was.
The real reason.
Not fear of Raymond.
Fear of responsibility.
I understood that.
Not because I agreed.
Because I had lived long enough to recognize it.
People often believed doing nothing was a neutral choice.
It was not.
Sometimes doing nothing was the decision that allowed everything else to continue.
“What happened after Dustin hurt Cole?” I asked.
Ethan looked relieved by the change in subject.
“Raymond paid for medical bills.”
“Why?”
“To make it go away.”
“Did Cole accept?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“He disappeared two days later.”
I frowned.
“Disappeared?”
“Moved.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I know.”
Ethan looked frustrated.
“I’m telling you what I know, not what I think.”
That was actually the first thing he had said all night that made me trust him more.
He understood the difference.
“What about Dustin and Marcy?”
“He knew who she was before she met him.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
Ethan looked uncomfortable.
“Raymond likes knowing things about people.”
“That sounds vague.”
“It’s intentional.”
“Why?”
“Because information is power.”
I sat back.
“How did he know about her?”
“I don’t know.”
May you like
“Did Dustin approach her because Raymond wanted him to?”
“No.”
