"Richard Caldwell."
"Possibly."
"You think he gave the order?"
"I think he was in a position to know what happened."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," Daniel agreed. "It isn't."
A newspaper photograph showed Richard Caldwell standing beside Paul Danner at the tournament. Both men were smiling toward a photographer. Behind them, a corridor sign pointed toward the private hospitality suite.
"I know him."
"Who is he?"
"Victor Sloane."
Victor had been the tournament's operations director. He had overseen the schedule, coordinated security, and managed the private rooms where sponsors met the fighters.
After Michael's death, Victor had resigned.
Unlike Richard Caldwell, he had disappeared from public view.
A business registry appeared, followed by a series of outdated addresses and corporate filings. One document listed Victor as a consultant for a private sports management firm.
Daniel read the address on the final filing.
"He's still in the city."
"Are you sure?"
"His company renewed a registration last year."
Sarah looked at him.
"What are you going to do?"
"Ask him what he heard."
"And if he refuses?"
"Then we'll find another way."
"You're beginning to sound like the man I remember."
Daniel looked up.
"Is that good or bad?"
"Ask me after you've had some sleep."
Victor Sloane stood near the edge of the frame, his face turned toward the corridor.
Daniel wondered whether the man had watched Michael's fight from the beginning.
And he wondered whether the former operations director had spent six years remembering the same final seconds that Daniel had never been able to forget.
The recording had preserved a voice.
Together, they might finally reveal who had been standing in the shadows when the clock was reset.
But evidence was not the same as justice.
And Daniel was about to discover how hard someone would fight to keep those two things apart.
Victor Sloane's office occupied the twelfth floor of a commercial building in the financial district.
The company listed on the directory specialized in sports consulting, athlete management, and event security. Its website featured photographs of stadiums, championship ceremonies, and smiling executives shaking hands beneath corporate banners.
Daniel recognized the style immediately.
Six years earlier, the same people had promised that the invitational tournament would become a turning point for young fighters. They had talked about opportunity, professionalism, and the importance of protecting athletes.
Daniel had wanted to believe them too.
A receptionist looked up from her computer.
"Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
"May I ask who you're here to see?"
"Victor Sloane."
"Mr. Sloane doesn't accept unscheduled visitors."
"Please tell him Daniel Mercer is here."
"One moment, please."
Daniel waited beside a row of chairs.
He could see the office corridor beyond the reception area. Employees moved between meeting rooms, carrying laptops and folders. Somewhere nearby, a printer produced a steady mechanical whir.
The people who had changed his life had not worn masks or hidden in dark alleys. They had attended meetings, signed documents, approved budgets, and smiled for photographs.
They had looked like everyone else.
His hair had turned almost completely gray, and he wore a dark blue suit that fit him perfectly. His face was thinner than Daniel remembered, but his eyes were unchanged.
Victor Sloane stopped several feet away.
"Daniel."
"Victor."
Then Victor glanced toward the receptionist.
"Could you give us a few minutes?"
"This way."
Daniel followed him into a private conference room. The walls were covered with photographs from sporting events, including several images of athletes standing beneath championship lights.
Victor closed the door.
"I didn't expect to see you again."
"I didn't expect to spend six years looking for answers."
"I'm sorry about Michael."
"Don't."
Victor looked up.
"Don't what?"
"Don't offer condolences before you've told me the truth."
"Sit down."
"I'd rather stand."
For several seconds, he studied Daniel as though trying to determine how much the years had changed him.
Finally, he said, "What do you want to know?"
"What happened during Michael's fight?"
"The official account is available in the archived report."
"I've read it."
"Then you know the findings."
"I know the version someone wanted people to believe."
"Be careful with your accusations."
Daniel stepped closer to the table.
"A timekeeper recorded an instruction to extend the round after the referee signaled a stoppage. The medical records were transferred under Richard Caldwell's authorization. The original footage appears to have been altered. I have documents, audio, and a witness."
Victor's face changed.
"Who gave you that recording?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because a recording can be misunderstood. A fragment of a conversation doesn't establish what happened in the ring."