Kyle stepped in close to Mason and spoke low, fast, with his hand half over his mouth. Mason waved him off without looking. Kyle said something else. Mason said one word back, and Kyle stopped talking, stepped away, his jaw tight.
"Chloe." Mason pointed at the desk. "Start the stream."
Chloe Parker did not move for a second.
"Chloe."
She reached over and logged in. The red dot came up on the gym account—the one Kyle had built to 9,000 followers. The viewer number started to climb.
Martin got between Mason and the mat. "This isn't sanctioned. There's no waiver on her. There's no medical. Do you understand what you're doing to my paperwork?"
"Nothing's happening to your paperwork."
"You are on camera in my building!"
"Then let's make it clear." Mason turned and squared up to the phone on the desk. He raised his voice so the microphone would have no trouble at all. "For the record: my call, my floor, my name on it. Anybody's got a problem, they come to me." He said it twice because he liked how it sounded the first time.
Behind him, Gianna Archer folded the torn gi in half, then in half again. She set it on the corner of the mat with both hands, slowly, and squared the edges before she let go. Then she straightened up and looked at three grown men.
"I'm ready when you are, sir."
Martin Keenan walked back to his desk and sat down. He put his hand flat on the folder that had been sitting there since Friday. He still did not open it.
Gianna walked to the far corner of the mat and turned her back on the room. She pulled the band out of her hair and put it back in tighter, twice. She rolled her sleeves down to the wrist instead of up. She pressed her thumb into the meat of her right palm and worked it in small circles—it was what a baker does after eight hours of shaping dough.