Marcus glanced toward the training floor.
“Do the others know?”
“Some do. Some don't.”
“Why?”
Althea rested one hand on the handle of her cart.
“Because it doesn't change what I'm doing here.”
Marcus looked at the cart.
“You're still cleaning?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
“I don't understand that.”
“You don't have to.”
The answer irritated him more than he expected.
“You had a professional career. You won titles. And now you're mopping floors?”
Althea studied him.
“Is there something wrong with mopping floors?”
“No. That's not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Marcus hesitated.
He could hear the training class behind them.
A heavy bag thudded against its chain.
He lowered his voice.
“I mean, why would someone with your background want to work here?”
Althea's expression softened slightly.
“Because I wanted a steady job. Because the hours work for me. Because I like being around the sport without having to compete in it anymore.”
She adjusted the cleaning cart.
“And because there is dignity in honest work.”
Marcus looked away.
For a moment, he felt as though she had answered a question he had not intended to ask.
Then he recovered.
“So you're not interested in coaching?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You don't train anyone?”
“Not officially.”
“Why not?”
“Because I haven't been asked.”
Marcus gave a short laugh.
“That's strange.”
“Why?”
“You've got all that experience. You could probably teach half the people in here.”
Althea looked toward the ring.
“Experience doesn't automatically make someone a good teacher.”
“Still, you could do more than clean.”
She did not answer immediately.
Then she said, “You could do more than walk through wet floors.”
Marcus's jaw tightened.
“Are we still talking about last night?”
“Are we?”
He looked at her.
There was no anger in her voice.
That somehow made it worse.
“I said I was joking.”
“You said a lot of things.”
“And I apologized.”
“You haven't.”
Marcus opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Althea continued.
“You told me to do the work again after deliberately undoing it. You didn't apologize. You didn't help. You didn't even acknowledge that I was trying to finish my shift.”
“I didn't realize it mattered that much.”
“It mattered because I was doing my job.”
She moved the cart a few inches to the side so a pair of students could pass.
“Your title doesn't make my time less valuable.”
Marcus stared at her.
Then, from behind him, someone spoke.
“That's what I was trying to tell you.”
Ben Keller stood near the entrance to the training room.
The young amateur fighter was wearing black shorts, a gray shirt, and hand wraps. His hair was still damp from warm-up drills.
Marcus turned.
“Were you listening?”
Ben looked uncomfortable.
“I was coming out of the room.”
“Then go back in.”
Ben did not move.
Althea gave him a small nod.
“Morning, Ben.”
“Morning.”
Marcus looked between them.
“You two know each other?”
“She's helped me before,” Ben said.
“With what?”
“Footwork.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“Since when?”
Ben hesitated.
“A few weeks.”
Marcus gave a dismissive laugh.
“You've been taking advice from the cleaning staff?”
The moment the words left his mouth, he knew they sounded worse than he intended.
Ben's face changed.
Althea's expression did not.
But she placed both hands on the handle of the cart.
“Ben, you have class.”
He nodded.
“Yes, ma'am.”
He walked away.
Marcus watched him go.
“What's that about?”
Althea looked at him.
“Ask yourself.”
She pushed the cart toward the storage room.
Marcus stood in the hallway, watching her disappear through the door.
For the first time, the woman he had dismissed as an ordinary employee seemed difficult to categorize.
And that unsettled him.
At eleven thirty, Elena found Marcus sitting alone on a bench near the ring.
He was still holding his phone.
“You've been staring at that photograph for half an hour,” she said.
“I'm looking at her record.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know who she is.”
Elena leaned against the ropes.
“Why didn't you ask her?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She gave me three sentences.”
“Sounds like Althea.”
Marcus looked up.
“You knew she was a champion.”
“I knew she had a serious career.”
“How serious?”
Elena considered her answer.
“Before I became a coach, I watched her fight in a regional tournament in Chicago. I was nineteen. She was already a name people recognized.”
“What made her special?”
“Her timing.”
“Everybody says that about good fighters.”
“Not everybody means the same thing.”
Elena stepped through the ropes and stood in the ring.
“Most fighters learn to react. Althea learned to make people react to her.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she understood distance. She could make an opponent think they were safe, then take that safety away before they realized what had happened.”
Marcus looked at the photograph.
“Was she a knockout artist?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did she hit hard?”
Elena smiled faintly.
“She didn't need to hit as hard as you.”