"You're worried about Daniel?"
"I'm trying to prevent another disaster."
"You helped create the first one."
"Be careful."
"I've been careful for six years."
"Then keep being careful."
He was shorter than Richard, but the years had taught him how to occupy a room without needing to be the largest person in it.
"You can threaten my job if you want. You can withdraw your investment. You can tell the board I'm difficult to work with. But you don't get to walk in here and tell me what Daniel is allowed to remember."
"I never wanted the boy hurt."
"Which boy?"
Finally, Richard picked up his briefcase.
"Keep Daniel away from Ethan."
"You should be telling your son to stay away from Daniel."
Richard turned toward the door.
"If Daniel finds what he's looking for, there won't be any winners."
"Maybe winning isn't the point anymore."
From the far end of the corridor, Daniel watched him walk through the reception area.
Richard stopped.
Then Richard looked away and continued toward the exit.
But when the moment arrived, all he could think about was Michael.
Daniel looked down at his hands.
Then he went back to work.
This time, however, he wasn't trying to forget.
He was preparing to remember everything.
Sarah Whitmore still had friends who worked in sports medicine.
Some had moved into professional teams. Others worked in rehabilitation clinics or private training facilities. A few had left the industry entirely, exhausted by the politics that surrounded competitive fighting.
One of those friends was an administrative manager named Olivia Grant.
Olivia had worked at the medical center that handled injuries during the invitational tournament six years earlier. She had been responsible for coordinating physician schedules, maintaining treatment records, and forwarding incident reports to the event organizers.
When Sarah called her, Olivia initially refused to discuss the past.
"I can't help you," she said over the phone.
Sarah stood beside her apartment window, watching traffic move through the intersection below.
"You haven't even heard what I'm asking."
"I know what you're asking."
"We're not trying to reopen a lawsuit. We want to understand what happened."
"Understanding isn't always safe."
Sarah closed her eyes.
"Olivia, a young man died."
"I know that."
"And his brother has spent six years believing he could have prevented it."
"I know that too."
"Then please help us."
"Meet me tomorrow. There's a café near the old medical center. Come alone."
Sarah agreed.
When she told Daniel, he was sitting at his kitchen table with a stack of printed articles.
"She remembers something," Sarah said.
Daniel looked up.
"Or she knows something."
"What's the difference?"
"Memory is what happened. Knowledge is what someone was told happened."
"You've become very cynical."
"I've had practice."
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"If we find evidence that changes what you believe about Michael, you won't immediately assume the worst."
"I can't promise that."
"Try."
"I'll try."
When Sarah entered, Olivia seemed relieved.
"You came alone?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Olivia waited until the server had moved away before speaking.
"I was told the incident was an accident."
"Who told you?"
"The tournament's medical director. He said Michael had sustained an injury during a sanctioned bout. He instructed us to complete the necessary paperwork and forward the report to the insurance company."
"Was that what you believed?"
"At first."
"Then I reviewed the records."
Sarah read it twice.
"Who wrote this?"
"I did."
"Why?"
"Because Michael's condition didn't match the report we received."
Olivia explained that the official summary described a brief exchange followed by an accidental fall. But the medical notes suggested a more complicated sequence of events.
Michael had been injured after the referee had apparently attempted to stop the fight.
"What happened to the original records?" Sarah asked.
"They were transferred to the tournament's legal representatives."
"And then?"
"They disappeared."
Sarah looked at her.
"Disappeared?"
"At least, that's what we were told. Our office received a request to preserve the files. Two days later, we were informed that the request had been withdrawn."
"By whom?"
"I don't know."
"Olivia, you must have seen the name."
"I saw a signature on the authorization form. I don't want to repeat it without being certain."
"Can you find the form?"
"I kept a copy."
Olivia opened the envelope again and removed a second page.
The signature belonged to Richard Caldwell.
"He authorized the transfer?" she asked.
"He was listed as a financial representative for the event. His company handled several administrative expenses."
"Why would he have authority over medical records?"