At 8:30, just as the silent auction tables were being cleared, Derek clapped his hands together and addressed the room one more time. “Before you all head home tonight,” he said, “I want to leave you with one more demonstration. Something real, something that shows you exactly what a genuine self-defense response looks like under pressure.” Pauline glanced at her watch, a small flicker of concern crossing her face. The evening was running long, and the closing ceremony, where the final donation total would be announced, was still ahead of them. “Derek, we’re a little behind schedule,” she said quietly, stepping toward the stage. “Two minutes,” Derek promised, flashing that same practiced smile. “This is the part everyone remembers.” Pauline hesitated, then nodded, stepping back. She trusted him. Cedar Falls trusted him. That was the whole problem.
Frank Dunlap raised a hand from the front row, his accountant’s instincts still nagging at him. “Is there a waiver for this?” he asked. “That sort of thing, given his age.” A few people chuckled softly, assuming Frank was just being his usual cautious self. “It’s a demonstration, not a competition,” Derek said smoothly, waving the question away with an easy laugh. “I’ve done this a hundred times. Perfectly safe as long as everyone trusts the process.” Frank didn’t laugh along. He sat back slowly, unconvinced, but unwilling to make more of a fuss than he already had.
“I need a volunteer,” Derek said, scanning the crowd. “Someone who’s already had a taste of what real training looks like.” His eyes landed on Walt Higgins, still seated near the front. “How about you again, sir? Round two.” A ripple of light laughter moved through the room. Walt hesitated, rubbing his wrist slightly, the ache from the first demonstration still faintly present. “I think I’ve had my turn,” Walt said evenly, trying to keep the moment light. “Come on now,” Derek said, grinning at the crowd, playing to them more than to Walt. “You handled it like a champ last time. Let’s really show these folks what a proper shoulder control technique looks like. This one’s a favorite of mine.”
Margaret’s hand found Walt’s arm, gripping it lightly. “You don’t have to,” she murmured. But thirty-one years of never backing down from a challenge, even a small foolish one, pulled Walt to his feet anyway. He walked back up to the mat, jaw set, the same easy public smile fixed in place. Though something behind his eyes had grown more careful this time.