Black Belt Called MMA Champion A Fake In Front Of 200 People — 2s Later, Everyone Regretted It
Chapter 5
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Walt Higgins was one of the first to arrive. Walt was 78 years old, built like a man who used to be much bigger than he was now, though he still carried himself with the kind of posture that made people straighten up when he walked into a room. For 31 years, Walt had served as a sheriff's deputy in this county, the last nine of them as the assistant chief deputy. He'd retired 12 years ago, but Cedar Falls never really let him retire. He still coached the youth wrestling program at the middle school. He still showed up to every town meeting and asked the hard questions nobody else wanted to ask. People trusted Walt Higgins. That trust had been earned the slow way over decades, one small kindness at a time.His wife, Margaret, walked in beside him, her arm looped through his. Margaret was 69, a retired elementary school librarian, and she remembered every child who ever walked through her library doors—including the little girl named Emily Reeves, who used to spend her summer afternoons curled up in the reading corner with a stack of books twice her size.Margaret spotted Emily across the gym and gave a small wave. Emily waved back."There's my girl," Margaret said to Walt, warmth in her voice. "Can't believe she's all grown up. Poor thing's got her hands full these days from what she just told me. Her father's not well. Some fellow named Marcus checks on him evenings so she can work."Walt nodded, filing that away the easy, unhurried way he filed away most things, though his eyes were already looking past Emily toward the stage where something had caught his attention. A banner was being unrolled, bright red and black:Vance Elite MMA and Self-Defense Academy, it read in bold letters. Below that, smaller text:Protecting Cedar Falls One Lesson at a Time."Huh," Walt said, half to himself."What is it?" Margaret asked.Walt didn't answer right away. He just watched the banner get pinned up, his eyes narrowing slightly—the way they used to narrow when something at a crime scene didn't quite add up. He couldn't have told you why, exactly. Just an old instinct, the kind 31 years on the job leaves behind: a feeling that something loud was about to walk through that door.He was right.At exactly 7:00, the doors at the back of the gymnasium swung open, and Derek Vance made his entrance. There's no other way to describe it: he didn't walk in; he arrived.He came through the door flanked by two younger men in matching black polo shirts, both of them carrying gym bags with the Vance Elite logo stitched across the side. Derek himself wore his pressed white gi, the black belt cinched tight, three golden stripes embroidered near the knot. He was 34 years old, tall, built like someone who spent two hours a day in front of a mirror, which he did. His hair was perfectly combed. His smile was the kind that had clearly been practiced."Cedar Falls!" he called out, loud enough that half the room turned to look. "Are we ready to learn how to protect ourselves tonight?"