Black Belt Called MMA Champion A Fake In Front Of 200 People — 2s Later, Everyone Regretted It
Chapter 6
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A scattered round of applause followed. Pauline Kesler hurried over, clipboard still in hand, beaming. "Mr. Vance, thank you so much for coming," she said. "We're so grateful for the donation.""Please, call me Derek," he said, flashing that smile again. "And honestly, it's my pleasure. I believe every senior citizen in this town deserves to feel safe. That's not a business decision; that's a mission."It sounded good. It always did when Derek said it.Grant Wexler moved in with his camera, sensing a good soundbite when he heard one. "Mind if I get a quick word for tonight's broadcast?""Absolutely," Derek said, already turning to face the lens, chin lifted at exactly the right angle.While the camera rolled, Derek talked about his academy: three years in business, two black belts of his own, he said—though he never quite specified in what or from whom—and a regional title he'd apparently won years ago, the details of which changed slightly depending on who was listening."I've trained fighters," he told Grant, his voice dropping into something more serious. "Real fighters. Competition level. But tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about giving back to the people who need it most."It was a good line. Grant nodded, satisfied, and moved his camera toward the crowd for some reaction shots.An older gentleman near the front, a retired accountant named Frank Dunlap, raised his hand before Grant could walk away. "Where'd you compete exactly?" Frank asked, not unkindly. "Just curious. That regional title you mentioned."Derek's smile didn't waver, but something behind it flickered just for a fraction of a second. "Amateur circuit a few years back," he said smoothly. "Before I decided coaching was my real calling. Honestly, I don't like talking about myself too much. Tonight isn't about me."It was a good answer: vague enough to sound humble, specific enough to sound true. Frank nodded, satisfied, and Derek had already moved on before anyone could ask a follow-up question.He worked the room for a few more minutes: shaking hands, remembering names he'd only just heard, complimenting a woman's brooch, asking after somebody's grandchildren. He was good at this part—genuinely good in the way that made it hard to tell where the charm ended and the performance began. His assistants moved quietly behind him, setting a stack of membership pamphlets near the door:6 months for the price of 4, the flyer promised.Limited spots available for our senior safety program. A few people tucked the pamphlets into their purses without a second thought.Behind Derek, one of his assistants began unloading blue foam mats, arranging them into a square near the center of the stage. The other set up a small folding table, laying out pamphlets for the Vance Elite Academy: six-month membership packages, free consultation included.Walt watched all of this from a folding chair near the back, arms crossed, saying nothing."You're doing that face," Margaret said."What face?""The face you used to do when a car had out-of-state plates and no reason to be parked outside the bank."Walt allowed himself a small smile. "Maybe I'm just getting old and suspicious."