“Maya, what happened?” he asked softly. “Your face is bruised.”
“Marcus caught me,” I lied smoothly. “I didn’t get to the safe. But he showed me a contract. Leo signed it, Coach. Leo stole from the gym.”
Harris sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “Maya… I didn’t want you to find out like this. Your dad made me swear never to tell you. He took the fall to protect Leo.”
I stared at him. He sounded so convincing. So empathetic.
“That’s amazing, Coach,” I said quietly.
“What is?”
“That Leo could sign a legal document on October 14th while strapped to a bed in the orthopedic surgery ward with a fentanyl drip in his arm.”
Harris’s hand stopped halfway to his coffee mug. His eyes snapped up to meet mine.
“He was unconscious, Coach,” I continued, my voice turning to ice. “You went to visit him that day. You took a sample of his handwriting from his medical clipboard. You forged his name on that promissory note, and you gave it to Marcus.”
Harris stared at me, the grandfatherly warmth entirely melting off his face, leaving something cold and hollow behind. He carefully set his coffee mug down.
“Your dad owed me, Maya,” Harris said, no longer bothering to act. “He was making thousands off those fights, and I was making pennies in the corner. I had debts. Real debts. Bad people were going to break my legs.”
“So you sold him to Marcus,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach.
“Marcus offered to pay off my bookies,” Harris said with a chilling shrug. “All I had to do was give him leverage to force your dad to throw the championship and sign over the gym. The forgery was easy. Your dad believed Leo did it, and he fell on his sword like the good martyr he was.”
“You stole the key from Leo’s locker tonight,” I said.
Harris reached into his denim jacket and placed a small, brass storage-unit key on the table between us.
“I had to make sure there were no loose ends,” Harris said. “But it seems I’m too late.”
“Give me the key,” I demanded, reaching across the table.
Harris’s hand clamped down over mine, pinning it to the Formica tabletop. His grip was surprisingly strong.
“You shouldn’t have come here, kid,” Harris whispered.
The diner door chimed.
I turned my head. Marcus Vance walked into the diner, followed closely by Cole. Marcus was wearing a dark trench coat over his gi pants. He locked the diner door behind him and flipped the 'Open' sign to 'Closed.'
The lonely waitress behind the counter took one look at them, dropped her rag, and hurried through the swinging kitchen doors, wanting no part of this.
Harris had lured me into a trap.
Marcus walked over to our booth and slid into the seat next to Harris, blocking me in. Cole stood at the end of the table, crossing his arms.
“You’ve been a real pain tonight, Maya,” Marcus said, reaching into his pocket. “But it ends right now.”
He pulled out a thick burner phone and placed it on the table next to the brass key. He tapped the screen, opening a video file. He slid the phone toward me.
I looked at the screen. My heart stopped.
It was a video of my father’s room at the nursing home. My dad was asleep in his bed, looking frail and small. Sitting in the visitor’s chair right beside my dad’s pillow was Damon, holding the blue corner-towel he had stolen from the garage.
“Damon is sitting with your father right now,” Marcus said softly. “You have two choices. You give up. You let Harris keep that key, you let me finalize my sale tomorrow, and you walk out of this diner and never look back.”