Chapter 7 - EMMA’S TURN
Emma had sixteen minutes.
The nearest equipment vendor was on the opposite side of the convention center.
Competition-approved electronic socks had to be registered to the athlete before the match.
Her chest protector size was specific.
Her gloves had to pass inspection.
And somebody had taken all of it.
Emma stared at the empty chair.
“No.”
I touched her arm.
“We’ll fix it.”
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“I’m not missing nationals because of him.”
“We don’t know he took it.”
She looked toward Grant.
“I do.”
Grant stood behind the public barrier speaking casually with his attorney.
He didn’t look at us.
That somehow made it worse.
Noah said, “I’ll go ask him.”
Marcus grabbed him.
“You’ll do absolutely nothing of the kind.”
“My sister’s gear—”
“Is replaceable.”
Marcus pointed at Grant.
“Your eligibility is not.”
Vanessa suddenly said, “Carter.”
He looked up.
“Your spare gear.”
Carter frowned.
“Wrong size.”
“Some of it.”
Emma turned.
Carter opened his backpack.
Because he had been medically withdrawn, his equipment was still there.
Gloves.
Arm guards.
Shin guards.
Foot protectors.
Emma tried the gloves.
A little large.
Usable.
Marcus inspected them.
“Approved model.”
Carter handed her his forearm guards.
Too big.
A girl from another Colorado team overheard.
“I have extras.”
Within thirty seconds, three athletes were opening bags.
One offered shin guards.
Another had a spare chest protector.
A coach found replacement electronic socks.
Emma stared.
Girls she had competed against for years were lending equipment.
One of them, Riley Chen, grinned.
“We can destroy each other on the mat later.”
Emma laughed through tears.
“Deal.”
The tournament equipment official expedited inspection.
Ten minutes.
Eight.
Six.
Emma changed behind a portable screen.
Her uniform was already on.
I tied her hair.
My fingers shook.
She noticed.
“Mom.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“So are you.”
She smiled.
Then her expression changed.
“Do you think he took it?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t going to lie.
“Can we prove it?”
“Not yet.”
“What if he does something else?”
I held her face.
“Then you keep doing what you’ve done your entire life.”
“What?”
“Become harder to stop.”
Her eyes filled.
The announcer called her name.
Emma Bennett.
Ring Eleven.
She took a breath.
Then walked out wearing pieces of equipment from five different athletes.
Carter’s gloves.
Riley’s chest protector.
A girl from Nevada’s shin guards.
Replacement electronic socks from a tournament vendor.
Nothing matched.
Emma looked ridiculous.
She also looked unstoppable.
Her first opponent laughed when she saw the mismatched gear.
Emma smiled.
“You should see the other girl.”
The referee had to cover his mouth.
The match began.
Emma scored twelve unanswered points.
First-round superiority.
Second match.
She won 18–7.
Quarterfinal.
Closer.
Her opponent, Kiara James, had a dangerous back kick.
Emma took one hard shot to the chest.
I stopped breathing.
She stumbled.
Marcus shouted, “Reset!”
Emma nodded.
Kiara attacked again.
Emma slipped outside and scored.
Final seconds.
Emma won 13–11.
She was in the semifinal.
And then security found her bag.
A janitor discovered it inside a men’s restroom trash bin on the second floor.
Nothing stolen.
Just hidden.
Evelyn brought it herself.
Emma stared at the bag.
“Cameras?”
“We’re checking.”
Grant stood far away.
He knew.
We knew.
But knowing and proving were different things.
Emma opened the bag.
Everything was inside.
Except one item.
Her mouth guard.
In its place was a folded piece of paper.
Noah saw it first.
He opened it.
Two words.
LAST WARNING.
My blood turned to ice.
Vanessa whispered, “Grant.”
Evelyn took the note.
“We’re involving venue security.”
“No,” Emma said.
Everyone looked at her.
“I mean yes. Investigate.”
She pointed toward the ring.
“But I’m fighting.”
“Emma—”
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
“He wants me thinking about him.”
That sounded exactly like Noah.
“I’m done.”
Marcus smiled.
“That’s my girl.”
The semifinal opponent was Olivia Perez from Florida.
National number one.
Undefeated that season.
Grant had once emailed a recruiter calling Emma emotionally unstable.
If Emma knew Olivia’s ranking bothered her, she didn’t show it.
They bowed.
First round.
Olivia dominated.
10–4.
Emma returned to the chair.
Marcus crouched.
“You’re watching her shoulders.”
Emma breathed hard.
“She’s fast.”
“She’s supposed to be.”
“What do I do?”
“Watch her hips.”
The second round began.
Olivia feinted.
Emma didn’t react.
Olivia attacked.
Emma countered.
Score.
Another exchange.
Emma scored again.
8–5.
Olivia adjusted.
Emma adjusted faster.
Round two.
Emma 12.
Olivia 8.
One round each.
Grant watched behind the barrier.
Vanessa noticed him first.
“He’s filming.”
Of course he was.
Grant held his phone toward the ring.
Maybe evidence for sponsors.
Maybe social media.
Maybe because some twisted part of him wanted footage of his daughter losing.
Final round.
Olivia scored.
Emma answered.
Tie.
Olivia spun.
Emma blocked.
Twenty seconds.
Score 9–9.
Olivia attacked.
Emma slipped.
The referee stopped action.
Her borrowed chest protector strap had loosened.
Marcus fixed it.
Grant shouted from the crowd.
“Equipment violation!”
The referee ignored him.
Security moved toward Grant.
He raised both hands innocently.
Emma looked at him.
For one second.
Then turned back.
Ten seconds.
Olivia attacked aggressively.
Emma waited.
Five.
Four.
Olivia stepped forward.
Emma pivoted.
A clean turning kick struck the head protector.
Three points.
Buzzer.
12–9.
Emma won.
The sound that came out of me probably scared half the building.
Noah jumped over a chair.
Carter threw both crutches into the air and nearly fell.
Vanessa caught him.
Emma stood on the mat staring at the scoreboard.
National final.
Then her face broke.
She started crying.
Not because she had won.
Because she looked toward the stands and saw Grant still holding the phone.
Watching.
For the first time in thirteen years, her father had watched her compete.
And she had just defeated the top-ranked girl in the country.
Grant lowered his phone.
Emma’s smile disappeared.
He gave her one slow nod.
Approval.
My daughter’s entire body changed.
She walked toward the barrier.
I hurried after her.
“Emma.”
She stopped six feet from Grant.
He smiled.
“That was better.”
Noah went rigid.
Emma stared at him.
“Better than what?”
“Your regional footage.”
“You watched my footage?”
“I’ve always kept track.”
Her face changed.
“You kept track?”
“Yes.”
“Then you knew I won state when I was twelve.”
Grant hesitated.
“Yes.”
“You knew I tore my knee at thirteen.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I made the national development team last year.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know I called you after all three?”
Grant looked uncomfortable.
“Emma—”
“You knew.”
People nearby had begun listening.
Grant lowered his voice.
“I thought giving you space was best.”
She laughed.
“You were sabotaging recruiters while giving me space?”
His expression hardened.
“So Claire showed you private correspondence.”
“She didn’t have to show me anything.”
Emma stepped closer.
“You want to know the difference between Mom and you?”
Grant said nothing.
“When Mom watches me, I feel brave.”
Her voice cracked.
“When you watch me, I feel like I’m being graded.”
Grant’s mouth tightened.
“That attitude will hold you back.”
Emma stared at him.
Then smiled.
“No.”
She pointed toward the final bracket.
“It got me there.”
She turned away.
Grant grabbed the barrier.
“Emma.”
She stopped.
For one second I wondered if she would look back.
She didn’t.
Grant said, “I can still help you.”
Emma’s shoulders rose with one breath.
Then she answered without turning.
“You already did.”
Grant’s expression softened, almost hopeful.
Emma finished.
“You taught me exactly what kind of person I never want to become.”
She walked away.
Noah put his arm around her.
Carter followed on crutches.
Three children moved together toward the athlete area.
Grant stood alone.
Then Evelyn’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her eyes shifted toward Grant.
“Security footage?”
She looked at me.
“Yes.”
She ended the call.
“They found who moved Emma’s bag.”
My heart pounded.
“Was it Grant?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
We all stared.
“It was someone wearing a Walker Performance Group credential.”
Grant’s face went pale.
Evelyn continued.
“A member of his staff.”
May you like
And now the question wasn’t whether Grant had tried to interfere.
It was whether his employee would take the blame for him.
