CURTIS: I'm all right. Just waiting to see how it goes.
Maya called instead of replying.
Curtis answered.
"Hey, sweetheart."
"Why didn't you tell me the letter was coming today?"
"I didn't know it was coming today."
"You know what I mean."
Curtis leaned back in his chair.
"I didn't want you worrying about it."
"Dad, I am already worrying about it."
He smiled faintly.
"Fair enough."
"Did they say what happens next?"
"Preliminary hearing. The prosecutor wants me available to testify if necessary."
"Are you going?"
"Yes."
"Good."
There was a pause.
Then Maya asked, "Have you heard anything from the academy?"
"No."
"Not even a message?"
"Nothing."
"That seems strange."
"Maybe they have their own process."
"Or maybe they're hoping you'll disappear."
Curtis looked toward Daniel's photograph.
"That possibility has occurred to me."
"Does it bother you?"
"Some."
"Then why are you acting like it doesn't?"
He took a breath.
"Because being bothered doesn't mean I have to let it control the rest of my day."
Maya sighed.
"That sounds like something Grandpa would have said."
Curtis chuckled.
"Your grandfather had a lot of good advice."
"He also told me not to let people walk over me."
"That too."
"So don't let this become another situation where you carry everything quietly because you don't want to inconvenience anybody."
Curtis looked down at the prosecutor's letter.
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
The call continued for another few minutes. Maya told him about her respiratory therapy coursework, an upcoming clinical assessment, and a difficult instructor who seemed determined to make every student nervous.
Curtis listened.
He asked questions.
He reminded her to eat something before her evening shift.
When they hung up, the apartment seemed quieter than before.
He put the letter in a folder and placed it beside his work documents.
Then he finished his coffee.
Outside, a delivery truck moved through the street.
The ordinary world continued.
And Curtis intended to continue with it.
Victor Raines did not receive his copy of the complaint in a quiet apartment.
He received it inside his office at Raines Combat Academy.
The academy occupied a renovated commercial building on the edge of town. Its exterior was painted dark gray, with the academy's name displayed in silver letters above the entrance.
Inside, the main training floor smelled of disinfectant, rubber mats, and old canvas.
The walls displayed photographs of students competing in regional tournaments.
A large banner near the reception desk read:
DISCIPLINE. RESPECT. CONTROL.
Victor had approved the banner himself.
He had liked the words because they sounded authoritative.
Now, sitting behind his desk, he was beginning to understand that words could become evidence against the person who displayed them.
His attorney, Gregory Shaw, sat opposite him.
Gregory was a compact man in his early fifties, with carefully combed gray hair and a habit of removing his glasses whenever he wanted someone to pay attention.
He placed the complaint on Victor's desk.
"Let's go through this carefully."
Victor folded his arms.
"I already know what happened."
"Then this should be easy."
Gregory opened the document.
"You're charged with misdemeanor assault. The allegation is that you intentionally struck Curtis Dawson during an altercation at the travel plaza."
"He was disrespectful."
"That isn't a defense."
Victor frowned.
"He was sitting where we were going to sit."
"Was it a private table?"
"No."
"Was it reserved?"
"No."
"Did you have authority to make him leave?"
Victor hesitated.
"Not officially."
Gregory looked up.
"Then let's avoid spending time on the seating issue."
Victor leaned back.
"He was provoking me."
"How?"
"He wouldn't move."
"Did he threaten you?"
"No."
"Did he strike you?"
"No."
"Did he raise his hands?"
Victor's jaw tightened.
"Not that I remember."
Gregory waited.
Victor looked toward the window.
"He was acting like he wasn't afraid."
Gregory lowered the complaint.
"Victor, listen carefully. Being unwilling to move because you demanded it is not the same thing as threatening you."
Victor said nothing.
"The prosecutor has video."
"I know."
"Several witnesses."
"I know."
"At least two people from your academy have given statements."
Victor looked up sharply.
"Who?"
Gregory did not immediately answer.
"Names aren't important right now."
"They are to me."
"Your priority should be understanding the case."
Victor stood.
He walked toward the window, looking down at the parking lot.
A young student was crossing the pavement with a blue gym bag. His father followed behind him.
Victor watched them enter the building.
"Those kids look up to me," he said.
Gregory remained seated.
"Then you should be especially careful about what they learn from you."
Victor turned.
"You think I'm a bad instructor?"
"I think you are facing an assault charge."
"That's not what I asked."
Gregory put on his glasses.
"I don't know enough about your teaching to answer that. But I do know that an instructor who cannot control himself outside the gym may have a serious credibility problem when he claims to teach control inside it."
Victor looked away.
For the first time that morning, he had no immediate response.
The academy had begun to change before Victor was ready to acknowledge it.
Parents were asking questions.
Not loudly.
Not in dramatic confrontations.
They were simply asking.
One mother called to ask whether the academy had reviewed its supervision policy.
A father wanted to know whether Victor would continue teaching the children's advanced class.