Locker thirty-two had a new padlock.
Vincent handed her a key.
“I opened it after I found the ledger. I put the lock on so no one else could.”
Cassidy turned the key herself.
Inside were a pair of cracked gloves, a photograph, two newspaper clippings, and a sealed envelope with PATRICK written across the front by someone else.
She opened the photograph first.
Patrick stood in the ring holding a baby.
Cassidy.
On the back, in blue ink, someone had written:
Cassidy’s first night at the club. Patrick says she already keeps her hands up.
She sat down on the bench.
“I was here.”
“Yes.”
“He never told me.”
Vincent stayed several feet away.
The sealed envelope contained a statement Patrick had written fifteen years earlier. It was addressed to Vincent’s father.
Patrick described Dominic’s approach before the regional fight, the money offered, the threat that no promoter would book him if he refused, and the accusation that followed. He included account numbers copied from payout sheets and named two other fighters who had been pressured.
At the bottom, Patrick had written:
I will not ask you to restore my career if protecting your business matters more than the truth. But do not call my daughter’s father a thief because I would not become one for you.
Cassidy stopped reading.
Vincent looked away.
“My father kept that letter and did nothing.”
“Why?”
“I can guess. I won’t insult you by pretending I know.”
Cassidy folded the page carefully.
“You want me to fight you because Patrick did?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Vincent looked embarrassed for the first time.
“Your father had a counter he taught every kid he trusted. Slip outside the grab, redirect the wrist, step past the hip. You used it on Dominic yesterday.”
