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. Six months for the price of four, 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 others 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.” “Maybe,” Margaret said. “Or maybe your instincts still work fine.”
Across the room, Emily had stopped what she was doing to watch the commotion near the stage. She wasn’t smiling anymore. Something in her posture had changed, though it was subtle enough that nobody else noticed. Her shoulders had squared, just slightly. Her weight had shifted evenly onto the balls of her feet. It was the kind of small adjustment a person makes without thinking about it. The kind of adjustment that only means something if you already know what to look for. Nobody in that gymnasium knew what to look for. Not yet.