“Dominic said Patrick was the one stealing.”
“And you believed him.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Yes.”
The word landed harder than an excuse would have.
“My father lost everything because of boxing.”
“I know.”
“No. You know a name.”
“I know he was barred from every Kelletti-backed event in the city. I know other promoters followed because they didn’t want trouble with my father. I know Patrick took jobs unloading trucks at night while still training kids during the day.”
Cassidy stared at him.
Her father had unloaded trucks.
He had told her the work paid better than fighting.
She had never asked why he stopped getting fights.
“Why are you telling me now?”
Vincent reached into the gym bag.
Cassidy’s body shifted automatically.
He noticed and slowed his movement.
What he removed was not money.
It was a ledger wrapped in brown paper.
“I found this six weeks ago after my father died.”
He set it on the ring apron.
“My father kept records like he expected someone to challenge him after he was gone.”
Cassidy did not touch it.
“What’s in it?”
“Enough to prove Dominic lied about several fighters. Maybe enough to prove he profited from fixed bouts. There are initials next to payments. Patrick’s name appears beside one entry, but not the way Dominic claimed.”
Cassidy finally opened the ledger.
On one page, P. GALLAGHER was written beside a notation: RETURNED. REFUSED.
Below it was a number.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
Cassidy looked at Vincent.
“That was more than my father made in a year.”
“It was the offer to lose a regional title fight.”
“And he refused.”
“Yes.”
“Then Dominic accused him of stealing.”
“Yes.”
Cassidy closed the book.
For a moment, she could hear her father in the tiny kitchen where he taught her to keep her elbows in. Patrick Gallagher, who stretched every paycheck, repaired the same coat twice, and once sold his watch to cover her dental bill.
Twenty-five thousand dollars had been put in front of him.
He had sent it back.
“Why did Dominic look scared when you said his name?”
“Because he knows this ledger exists.”
“Then why hasn’t he destroyed it?”
“He didn’t know my father kept it.”
“He knows now.”
Vincent nodded.
“Yesterday, when you said Patrick taught you, Dominic understood two things. The first was that I had started looking backward. The second was that Patrick had a daughter who might know what he kept.”
Cassidy’s skin went cold.
“I don’t have anything.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
