She hasn't done anything to you. Tyler stared at him long enough that Jason looked away. Then Tyler laughed. You're getting nervous over a freshman? Jason slipped the phone into his pocket.
I just think you're pushing it. Tyler started toward the athletic complex. Then don't think Jason remained on the sidewalk for a moment before following. What neither of them noticed was David standing inside the glass doors of the administration building across the courtyard. He had seen the entire exchange.
More importantly, he had seen Jason recording it. That evening, David found Renee Coulter in the recreation center putting equipment away. I figured it out, he said. Renee looked up. What?
The freshman. He told her only what he believed Maya would not mind being known. Her name. Walter's name. Nothing about Elaine.
Nothing about why Maya had stopped competing. Renee's expression changed immediately. Walter Brooks, you know him? Everybody who taught practical defense around Richmond or Baltimore knew Walter Brooks. She sat on the edge of a bench.
I attended one of his workshops years ago. He could control a man twice his size and somehow make the man feel like he'd learned something instead of lost something. David nodded. That's her grandfather, Renee, stared toward the empty mats. And Tyler keeps putting his hands on her.
Does he know? No. Does she know you know? No. Renee exhaled slowly. Maybe we should tell her we're paying attention. I've thought about it.
And David looked through the recreation center windows toward the campus outside. She hasn't asked anybody to rescue her. Watching out for somebody isn't the same as rescuing them. I know. Renee folded her arms.
So what worries you? David thought of Tyler's hand around Maya's backpack strap. Jason's camera, Maya's calm warning. The same thing that worried Walter enough to teach people restraint before technique. Renee understood immediately the wrong person keeps mistaking restraint for weakness.
David nodded. Outside evening settled over Hawthorne University. Lights came on across the donor center where staff were already preparing for Saturday's reception. Through the tall glass walls, workers arranged white tablecloths beneath chandeliers while banners bearing the names of major university benefactors were hung above the entrance. One name appeared larger than most.
Grant Development Group. David looked at it through the window, money, influence, reputation. All the kinds of power Tyler understood. Then David thought about Maya Brooks, a 19-year-old freshman riding buses from Baltimore, working catering shifts, volunteering in a community kitchen, carrying an old brass token worth almost nothing and another kind of power entirely. Saturday would put both kinds in the same room.
David only hoped everyone understood the difference before somebody forced Maya to show them. Because Jason Cole's phone had already captured her warning and if Tyler ignored it, those few seconds of video might become the most important thing he had recorded in his life. Saturday evening transformed Hawthorne University. By six o'clock, the glass walled student center no longer looked like a place where freshmen rushed between classes with backpacks and paper coffee cups. Warm chandeliers glowed above white linen tables.
Silver trays reflected the light. A string quartet played near the tall windows while Richmond's evening skyline faded into blue beyond the glass. The university called it the founder's reception, invitation only, trustees, wealthy alumni, senior faculty, major donors, and selected athletes filled the room. Above the main staircase hung the names of Hawthorne's largest benefactors. Grant Development Group occupied the center.
Maya noticed it while carrying a tray of sparkling water through the crowd. She wore the black work-study catering uniform she had been issued that morning. Her hair was pulled into a long ponytail. Beneath the collar of her white shirt, the brass transit token rested against her chest. Most guests never looked closely enough to see it.