PART 2: He stole my bag on the mat, threw it to his friend, and told me to pick one of them first

I looked at him. At his broken face and his shaking hands and the weight of everything he had been carrying.

“Me,” I said.

He stared at me.

“You could have told me.”

“I didn’t know how to find you.”

“You could have tried.”

He shook his head. “I was too scared.”

“But you weren’t too scared to steal my bag.”

He flinched.

“Kade—”

“He’s not your father.”

I turned.

Kade’s father was standing closer now. I hadn’t heard him move.

“What?”

“You heard me. He’s not your father.”

I stared at him.

“Your father was my partner. But he wasn’t the man you thought he was.”

I felt the world tilt again.

“What are you talking about?”

He looked at the folder in my hand.

“No one is going to believe you,” he said.

I tightened my grip on the folder.

“Watch me.”

I walked past him and through the gym door.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I thought I would find closure. Maybe I thought I would find the truth.

Instead, I found a phone.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

It was coming from the far side of the gym. A cell phone, lying on one of the benches. I walked toward it. The screen was lit up. A name I didn’t recognize.

I picked it up.

“What are you doing?”

Kade’s father had followed me inside. His voice sounded strange.

I looked at the screen.

“You have one new message,” the phone said.

“Don’t—”

I pressed it.

A voice filled the gym.

“Hey. It’s me. I’m coming. Don’t let her leave.”

I stared at the phone.

Then at the man who had followed me inside.

His face was different now. Not ashamed. Not afraid.

Something else.

Something I couldn’t name.

“You,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

“You called them. When Kade ran. You called them.”

He still didn’t answer.

I turned toward the door. Kade was standing at the edge of the mat, staring at his father.

“You called them,” he said.

His father looked at him.

“I’m sorry.”

Kade shook his head.

“No. No no no.”

He turned and ran.

I was left alone in the gym.

The door was blocked by a man who had set my father up to die.

The students were gone—they must have left through the side door.

The coach was gone.

I was alone.

He stepped toward me.

“Give me the folder.”

I clutched it tighter against my chest.

“No.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No,” I said. “You don’t understand. I’ve been looking for six years. I’ve been chasing shadows. I’ve been trying to find my father’s killer. And he’s been standing in front of me this whole time.”

He took another step.

“This isn’t about revenge.”

“You’re right. It’s not. It’s about answers.”

“I can’t let you leave with that folder.”

I looked at the folder. Then at him.

“Then you’re going to have to stop me.”

He stepped forward.

And that’s when the lights went out.

The gym plunged into darkness. I heard a door open somewhere behind me.

A voice I didn’t recognize called out.

“This way. Now.”

I ran toward it.

Hands grabbed my arms and pulled me through the door. Into the night air.

“Come on. This way.”

We ran—around the side of the building, through a gate, into an alley.

Behind us, I heard the man shout.

But we were already gone.

When we stopped, I was bent over, trying to catch my breath.

“Who—” I started.

The person who had helped me stepped into the light.

It was the coach. Marcus.

He put a finger to his lips.

“Not here.”

We walked—three blocks, four, five. Silent. Fast.

Finally, he led me into a small storefront. A gym. Different from the one where everything had happened. Smaller. Older.

He closed the door and locked it.

“Alright,” he said. “Talk.”

I looked at him.

“You knew?”

He nodded.

“I knew enough.”

“You knew the man I was looking for was your friend.”

He shook his head.

“Not my friend. But I knew something was wrong. I’ve known for years.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

He looked at me with those steady eyes.

“Because I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

I stared at him.

Now I felt it—the exhaustion, the fear, the rush of everything that had happened.

I put the folder on a table and sat down in a chair.

“So what do we do now?”

Marcus sat across from me.

“Now,” he said, “we find the proof that will put him away.”

I looked at the folder.

“What if the proof wasn’t enough?”

“Then we find more.”

He looked at me.

“I knew your father.”

I stared at him.

“You did?”

“He trained here. Before he went undercover. He was one of my first students.”

I felt tears prick at my eyes.

“He was?”

Marcus nodded.

“He was a good man. He was trying to do the right thing.”

He reached over and put his hand on top of mine.

“We’re going to finish what he started.”

I looked at the folder.

Then at him.

Then at the road ahead.

It was long, and dark, and probably dangerous.

But for the first time in six years, I wasn’t alone.

“Okay,” I said.

And we began to plan.