Daniel confirmed when he had arrived at the venue, what he had witnessed, and when he had been informed of Michael's injury. He reviewed the recovered footage and identified the point at which the public version diverged from the original feed.
Then Detective Bennett asked about the argument.
"You told us you and Michael disagreed shortly before the tournament."
"Yes."
"Can you describe what happened?"
Daniel looked down at his hands.
"I told him he was taking unnecessary risks. I thought the opponent replacement was suspicious. I wanted him to withdraw."
"Did you have evidence that the replacement was improper?"
"Not then. I had concerns. I thought the timing was strange, and I didn't trust the organizers."
"What did Michael say?"
"That he had made his decision. He told me I couldn't protect him from everything."
"How did you respond?"
"I told him he was being arrogant. I said he was confusing pride with courage."
"Did you regret saying that?"
"For six years, I thought those words were the most important thing I had done that day."
"Why?"
"Because they were the last words we exchanged before he fought."
"I kept thinking that if I had been kinder, he might have listened. If I had convinced him to withdraw, he'd still be alive."
"Do you believe that now?"
Daniel looked at the window. Rain slid down the glass in thin, uneven lines.
"I believe I wish I had handled the conversation differently. I believe I was frightened and tried to control a decision that belonged to him. But I don't know whether anything I said would have changed what happened."
He returned his attention to the detective.
"And even if I had convinced him to withdraw, that wouldn't explain why the event was handled the way it was. It wouldn't explain the altered footage or the timing records. It wouldn't excuse people who failed to act when the referee tried to stop the fight."
"That's an important distinction."
Daniel felt something loosen in his chest.
For years, he had tried to find a single decision that would allow him to rewrite the past. His own anger, Michael's stubbornness, the opponent replacement, the referee's signal, the clock override, the shortened footage—he had turned each into a possible doorway to a different ending.
The interview continued for another hour. The investigators asked about the academy's structure, the event's financial arrangements, and conversations Daniel remembered from the days following Michael's death.
At the end, Detective Bennett turned off the recorder.
"We're nearing the end of this phase of the investigation," she said. "That doesn't mean every question has been resolved. The legal review is ongoing, and some matters may take longer."
"Will you tell me if you find something new?"
"Yes, within the limits of the process."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you think we'll ever know exactly what happened?"
"We may establish more than we know today. We may be able to determine who made particular decisions and why. But investigations don't always produce a complete explanation for every moment. Sometimes the evidence supports a clear conclusion. Sometimes it leaves a gap."
"I used to think that if I found the right person, the right document, the right confession, everything would make sense."
"And now?"
"Now I think I want the truth, even if it doesn't make sense."
Detective Bennett gave a small nod.
"That may be the most realistic way to approach it."
Outside the building, Daniel called Helen.
"They've finished the interview."
"How did it go?"
"They asked about the argument."
"Was that difficult?"
"Yes."
"Do you feel any differently about it now?"
Daniel thought about Michael's letter, the photograph, and the list of ordinary things his brother had wanted to do.
"I don't think the argument was the cause of everything that happened," he said. "I think it was a painful conversation between two brothers who loved each other and didn't know how to say what they were afraid of."
"That sounds closer to the truth."
"I wish I'd told him I was scared instead of telling him he was wrong."
"You can regret how you spoke without taking responsibility for decisions other people made."
Daniel closed his eyes briefly.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Apparently, I still need practice."
"Most of us do."
That evening, Daniel visited the cemetery.
The rain had stopped, leaving the grass dark and shining. He placed fresh flowers beside Michael's headstone and sat on the low stone bench nearby.
He did not bring the investigation folder.
Take a trip without checking the training schedule.