Another family requested copies of the conduct guidelines.
The questions were reasonable.
That was what made them difficult for Victor to dismiss.
He had spent years treating the academy as an extension of his personality.
He had built it.
He had paid for the mats.
He had recruited the instructors.
He had negotiated the lease and handled the difficult early years when membership barely covered rent.
He believed those sacrifices gave him authority.
But authority did not belong to the person who had worked hardest to obtain it.
Not when children and students depended on the institution.
At least, that was what Rachel Kim kept telling him.
Rachel had worked at the academy for six years.
She managed enrollment, billing, schedules, equipment orders, and parent communications. She knew which students were struggling financially, which parents needed flexible payment plans, and which instructors could be trusted with a nervous beginner.
She also knew how much of the academy's culture depended on Victor's mood.
On Wednesday afternoon, she entered his office with a printed list.
"We need to discuss the parent inquiries."
Victor glanced at it.
"How many?"
"Eleven since Monday."
"Eleven isn't a crisis."
"No. But the questions are becoming more specific."
"People like gossip."
"Some do. These parents aren't gossiping."
Victor pushed the list aside.
"What do they want?"
"Written confirmation that the academy is reviewing the incident and that the children's program will remain supervised by qualified instructors."
"Tell them the academy is handling it."
"I need something more specific."
"Why?"
"Because they asked for something specific."
Victor stared at her.
Rachel kept her voice professional.
"I've worked here six years, Victor. I know how to handle complaints. I also know when people are worried."
"You're making this sound bigger than it is."
"I'm telling you what I'm hearing."
"Then tell them nothing has changed."
Rachel hesitated.
"Something has changed."
Victor's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Parents are questioning whether the academy's values apply to the owner."
The sentence landed harder than Rachel intended.
Victor stood.
"Careful."
Rachel did not move.
"I'm being careful. That's why I'm saying it here instead of pretending everything is fine."
He walked around the desk.
"You think I don't know what people are saying?"
"I think you know some of it. I don't think you've listened to all of it."
"You're an administrator, Rachel."
"Yes."
"Not a board member."
"No."
"Then handle the administrative work."
Rachel nodded slowly.
"I will. But I'm not going to write a statement that says the academy has no concerns when we clearly do."
Victor stared at her.
"Are you refusing an instruction?"
"I'm refusing to make a false statement."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Rachel collected her papers.
"I'll prepare a factual update for the board. They can decide what they want communicated."
She left the office.
Victor remained standing.
The academy's banner was visible through the glass partition.
DISCIPLINE. RESPECT. CONTROL.
He looked at it for a long time.
Olivia Grant had heard enough.
She was the academy's senior instructor and had taught martial arts for nearly fifteen years.
Unlike Victor, she rarely raised her voice.
She had learned early that students often became more nervous when instructors shouted.
Her teaching style was patient and deliberate.
She corrected posture.
She explained why a technique worked.
She insisted that students stop immediately when a partner tapped.
She had once removed a student from an advanced class for laughing at a beginner who struggled to maintain balance.
Victor had called her too sensitive.
Olivia had called it teaching.
On Thursday evening, she found Marcus Hill preparing the adult fitness area.
"Have you seen the proposed statement?" she asked.
Marcus wiped his hands on a towel.
"Rachel sent it to me."
"And?"
"I don't like it."
"Neither do I."
The draft statement described the incident as an unfortunate disagreement between two individuals.
It said the academy did not condone inappropriate behavior by any member of its community.
It did not mention Victor's position.
It did not acknowledge that he had been wearing academy clothing.
It did not state that he had initiated physical contact.
It did not mention the children who had witnessed the incident.
"It reads like we're apologizing for the weather," Marcus said.
Olivia folded the paper.
"We need to be honest."
"Victor won't like that."
"He doesn't have to like it."
Marcus glanced toward the training floor.
A group of teenage students was practicing footwork.
One of them was Dylan Mercer.
Dylan had been one of the younger men at the travel plaza.
He had witnessed Victor grab Curtis.
He had also witnessed Curtis remain seated and refuse to retaliate.
After the incident, Dylan had provided a statement to investigators.
He had not enjoyed doing it.
Victor had trained him for years.
But Dylan had also seen enough to understand that silence would be a decision.
Olivia watched him practice.
"Have you spoken to Dylan?"
"Briefly."
"How is he?"
"Uncomfortable."
"That makes sense."
"He thinks Victor will make an example of him."
Olivia looked at Marcus.
"Then we need to make sure nobody does."
Marcus nodded.
"Agreed."
They stood quietly for a moment.
Then Olivia said, "The board needs to hear from the instructors."
Marcus sighed.
"They'll hear from me."
"And me."
"Victor is going to take that personally."
Olivia looked toward the office.