And he remembered the photograph on his phone.
"No," he said finally. "I'm going to make sure they can't hurt anyone."
Larry nodded, apparently satisfied.
Agrippa kissed the top of his head.
Then he stood, picked up his phone, and called the police.
He was going to do this the right way.
He was going to document the threats, preserve the video, and make certain that every decision he made protected his son rather than his pride.
But as the phone rang, another thought settled into his mind.
The men at the park had not been acting entirely at random.
Trent had recognized his name. Mason had searched for his fighting record. Someone had gone to the trouble of locating Larry's photograph and sending it to Agrippa's phone.
That suggested planning.
Or at least a level of persistence that went beyond an ordinary argument.
And Agrippa had spent enough years around dangerous people to know that the most important question was not always who had thrown the first punch.
Sometimes, it was who had decided the confrontation should happen in the first place.
Mason Pike woke the following morning to a phone that would not stop vibrating.
His video had spread far beyond the small circle of followers he normally entertained with gym clips, prank videos, and arguments filmed outside bars.
By eight o'clock, it had accumulated tens of thousands of views.
By nine, strangers were arguing about it.
By ten, someone had identified Agrippa Fisher as a former professional MMA champion.
Mason sat upright in bed.
"No way."
He refreshed the page.
The number climbed again.
He had expected the video to attract attention. Trent had promised that the old man would make a perfect target because he looked tired, ordinary, and easy to provoke.
What Mason had not expected was the championship history.
Now the comments were full of people discussing Agrippa's career.
Some called him a legend. Others posted old fight highlights. One account had uploaded a photograph of Agrippa standing beside his championship belt, his face bruised after a five-round contest that had once been described as the toughest fight of his career.
Mason watched the clip twice.
He recognized the scar immediately.
He had seen it in the park.
The realization made his stomach tighten.
He had been filming a former champion while five men threatened him in front of his son.
And Mason had been the one encouraging Trent to keep going.
His phone rang.
Trent's name appeared on the screen.
Mason answered.
"What's up?"
"Did you see the views?"
"Yeah."
"That's what I'm talking about."
Mason hesitated.
"People are saying we were bullying him."
Trent laughed.
"People say whatever gets them attention."
"They're sharing his old fights."
"Good. That makes the video more interesting."
"Man, they found the threat I sent him too."
Silence.
Then Trent's voice hardened.
"What threat?"
Mason sat up straighter.
"The message. The one with the picture of his kid."
"I didn't send him anything."
"Then who did?"
"I don't know. Why are you asking me?"
"Because somebody used the picture from my video."
Trent swore under his breath.
"Delete everything."
"What?"
"Delete the video. Delete the comments. Everything."
Mason looked at the screen.
The view count had climbed again.
"You told me to post it."
"And now I'm telling you to take it down."
"But—"
"Do it, Mason."
The call ended.
Mason stared at the phone.
For the first time since the confrontation, he felt something other than excitement.
He felt exposed.
He deleted the video from his account, but copies had already spread across several platforms. Other users had downloaded it, added captions, and uploaded their own versions.
The internet had swallowed the footage.
There was no simple way to retrieve it.
Mason opened his messages and searched for the photograph of Larry.
He had not taken the picture himself.
He had received it from an unfamiliar account shortly after the confrontation.
The message had contained only three words:
MAKE HIM REMEMBER.
At the time, Mason had assumed it was a joke from someone who had watched the video.
Now the message seemed much more sinister.
He checked the account again.
It had been deleted.
Mason rubbed his face.
"What the hell did we get into?"
Across town, Agrippa sat in a small police station with a cup of untouched coffee between his hands.
He had brought printed screenshots, the original message, and the video saved on his phone. A patrol officer had taken his statement and promised that a detective would review the threats.
The officer had been professional, but Agrippa could tell the case was not yet a priority.
There had been no physical injury requiring medical attention. Trent's identity was known, and the video documented much of the confrontation.
The threatening message was more concerning, especially because it referenced Larry.
"We'll follow up," the officer said.