Chương 6
Maya contributed to all three conversations.
She needed the ordinary noise.
Around one in the afternoon, she opened a supply cabinet and discovered somebody had put empty boxes back inside it.
She became furious.
Not mildly irritated.
Furious.
She pulled every box out and flattened them against the floor harder than necessary.
One of the younger soldiers watched her.
“Staff Sergeant?”
“What?”
He glanced at the cardboard.
Maya exhaled.
“People who put empty boxes back in cabinets are a threat to civilization.”
The soldier considered this.
“Yes, Staff Sergeant.”
“Don’t agree with me because I outrank you.”
“I actually agree.”
“Fine.”
He helped her carry the cardboard out.
That was when Maya understood how angry she really was.
Not at the slap.
Not only.
At having her version of the world taken from her.
Twenty-four hours earlier she had been a soldier who happened to be attending a charity event.
Now strangers were arguing about what kind of woman she was.
Hero.
Fraud.
Victim.
Plant.
Weapon.
Prop.
Nobody seemed interested in leaving her human.
Richard’s company board met that afternoon without waiting for him to request it.
He sat at the long walnut table while the communications director displayed screenshots on a wall monitor.
The company name had been mentioned more than eighty thousand times in less than a day.
A major client had asked whether Derek worked for Cole Development Group.
He did not.
That did not matter.
One executive said the word crisis four times.
Another said brand contamination.
Richard hated the phrase enough that he interrupted.
“A woman was assaulted at an event we sponsored.”
The room went quiet.
The communications director lowered the remote.
Richard looked around the table.
“If anybody says brand contamination again, leave.”
His chief financial officer shifted in her chair.
“Richard, nobody is minimizing what happened.”
“You just turned it into a marketing problem.”
“It is also a marketing problem.”
He looked at her.
She did not look away.
That was why he paid her.
“Fair.”
The admission surprised several people.
Ellen Cho sat beside the window with a legal pad.
She said, “The company needs to separate three things. Derek’s conduct. Richard’s role in placing Derek in the event. And the company’s sponsorship.”
Richard glanced at her.
There it was in public.
His role.
No euphemism.
The communications director asked, “What exactly was Richard’s role?”
Richard answered before Ellen could.
“The foundation wanted a veteran-affiliated instructor for the demonstration.”
Silence.
“I suggested Derek.”
“Suggested?”
Richard leaned back.
“Pressed.”
Nobody wrote for a moment.
Then everyone did.
“Why?” the CFO asked.
Richard looked toward the screen.
A paused video showed his son standing over Maya.
“Because I thought he would be good for the event.”
That was not the full answer.
The full answer was uglier.
Derek had complained for years that Richard never treated his grappling career as serious. Richard had called it a hobby more than once. When the foundation needed someone athletic and recognizable within the local fitness community, Richard had seen an opportunity to repair something cheaply.
Give Derek a stage.
Give the charity some attention.
Give himself the pleasure of solving both problems at once.
He had not asked whether Derek belonged there.
He had asked whether Derek would like it.
The CFO said, “We need to disclose that.”
Richard nodded.
“Yes.”
Ellen watched him.
He knew what she was thinking.
This was the point where the old Richard would ask how much disclosure was legally necessary.
He almost asked.
The instinct rose fully formed.
Then passed.
“Yes,” he repeated. “All of it.”
Derek arrived at Richard’s house that night.
Richard saw him through the security camera and considered not opening the door.
He opened it.
Derek walked in without waiting to be invited.
“You threw me under the bus.”
Richard closed the door.
“You made the video.”
“Because nobody was telling my side.”
“You don’t have a side where the slap didn’t happen.”
“It was contact.”
“You called it a test.”
“It was.”
Richard stared at him.
Derek walked toward the kitchen.
“Do you have beer?”
“No.”
“You always have beer.”
“Then I don’t want you drinking mine.”
Derek turned.
“You’re acting like I beat her.”
Richard’s expression changed.
Derek noticed.
“That came out wrong.”
“It came out exactly the way you think.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“Stop.”
Derek folded his arms.
For a few seconds neither spoke.
The house hummed faintly with climate control.
A refrigerator compressor kicked on.
Richard looked at his son and saw, not for the first time, how much they resembled each other around the eyes.
He had once been proud of that.
“Why did you slap her?”
Derek looked away.
“Heat of the moment.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You were smiling.”
“You saw three seconds.”
“I saw my son.”
Derek scoffed.
Richard walked closer.
“Why?”
Derek’s jaw tightened.
“Everybody in that tent looked at her like she was something.”
“She’s a soldier at a veterans event.”
“So?”
Richard waited.
Derek shrugged.
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No. Say it.”
Derek looked toward the windows.
“When I walk into a room, nobody gives a damn what I’ve done.”
Richard almost answered.
Then stopped.
Something honest had finally appeared, and he nearly killed it by arguing.
Derek continued.
“I’ve trained twelve years. I’ve fought with torn ribs. I’ve won against guys forty pounds heavier than me. I built my own gym classes. I have people who drive two hours to train with me.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Richard stayed quiet.
“You introduce me as your son,” Derek said. “Always. Not Derek, the athlete. Not Derek, the coach. Your son.”
Richard looked at the floor.
“And yesterday,” Derek said, “everybody looked at her like the uniform meant she was automatically tougher than everybody else.”
“So you hit her.”
“I wanted people to see.”
“See what?”
“That symbols aren’t skill.”
Richard slowly raised his eyes.
“You didn’t know her skill.”
Derek laughed bitterly.
May you like
“Apparently you did.”
Richard said nothing.
