“Nobody Can Beat Me,” the Black Belt Boasted — Until a Single Dad Entered the Ring
Chapter 11
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William didn't celebrate. He didn't raise his hands. He turned his back on Trent, walked heavily toward the edge of the ring, and leaned over the top rope. He looked down at the MC, who was standing frozen by the scorer's table, staring at William with wide, disbelieving eyes.William pointed a bloody, taped glove at the clear acrylic briefcase sitting on the table. "I believe," William said, his voice a low, rattling rasp, "I have a withdrawal to make."The MC stared at William's pointing glove. He looked at the briefcase, then up at Trent, who was still slumped in the corner, staring at the canvas with vacant, glassy eyes."Well?" William said. The word was thick; his swollen cheek severely restricted his jaw movement.A man in a slim-fit gray suit pushed his way through the bewildered MC and the ringside staff. He had slicked-back hair and a Bluetooth earpiece. He was the owner of Apex Combat Academy, and his grand opening had just turned into a PR disaster."All right, all right, incredible show!" the owner yelled, grabbing a spare microphone. He forced a wide, plastic smile to the crowd. "Give it up for our challenger! What heart! What an exhibition of the warrior spirit!"The crowd booed. They didn't want corporate spin. They wanted the transaction.The owner muted the microphone and leaned over the scorer's table, his smile vanishing. He looked up at William with cold, calculating eyes. "Listen, buddy, you did great. We're going to take you inside, get our medic to look at that eye, and we'll write you a check. Just sign a quick NDA to keep this footage off YouTube, and—""No," William interrupted. He leaned heavier on the top rope, his blood dripping onto the white canvas pad. He didn't have the energy to argue; he didn't have the energy to stand for another three minutes, but he had absolutely no intention of walking away without what he earned. "The sign on the archway says $5,000 cash," William rasped. "Your boy said it on the mic. Half these people recorded it.""I can't just hand a random guy five grand in a parking lot. There are tax forms, W-9s, liability waivers," the owner hissed, glancing nervously at the crowd pressing tightly against the barricades.The heavy-set union guy in the front row slammed his open hand against the metal barrier. It sounded like a gunshot. "Give him the money, you cheap suit!" the man roared.The teenager next to him chimed in. "Yeah, he survived the round! Pay up or we're calling the cops for fraud!"A chant started. It was messy at first, but it quickly coalesced into a rhythmic, deafening demand:"Pay him. Pay him. Pay him."The owner swallowed hard. He looked at the sea of angry faces, the dozens of camera lenses pointed directly at him. He was a businessman; he realized instantly that the cost of a viral video showing his gym scamming a working-class dad would far exceed $5,000 in canceled memberships.