alone. Mason dropped his gloves, emboldened by the presence of two friends watching from
lawn chairs on his side.
"Are you disrespecting me in front of my friends?" he demanded, stepping right up to the
invisible boundary. "Do you know who I am? I could fold you in half." Without warning, he
reached across the line and grabbed the collar of my flannel shirt. My reaction was instinctual,
honed by years of combat. I didn't throw a punch. I simply pivoted, trapped his wrist against my
chest, and applied a brutal but invisible compliance hold to his elbow. In a fraction of a second,
Mason yelped in pain and dropped to one knee.
Chapter 9: The Angry Father
I released him instantly and stepped back. "Careful," I said loudly for his friends to hear. "You
almost tripped over the roots." To his friends, it looked like a clumsy misstep. Humiliated and
clutching his wrist, Mason scrambled away. I told the girls to head inside.