Byron recognized the contradiction quickly. He had seen organizations where the person with the loudest authority began confusing obedience with respect. The difference was that, in the military, his best commanders had insisted on accountability in front of subordinates who could testify when things went wrong. At Apex, there was no higher authority in the room once Wade decided Colt should have what he wanted. The rules became flexible for the star and rigid for everyone he disliked.
For months, Byron avoided him with quiet professionalism. He opened doors, checked access badges, and kept guests away from restricted hallways. Colt walked past him as if passing a fixture, sometimes deliberately using the wrong name. "Bernard," he said once, snapping his fingers.
"Go get my bag." Byron replied, "My name is Byron, Mr. Brennan, and my assignment is the entrance." Colt laughed, apparently amused that an elderly employee had dared to correct him.
That small exchange altered their relationship. Colt began watching for moments when Byron would have to obey, particularly when a camera was present. He liked authority that could not answer back. He liked the appearance of an old man doing exactly what he commanded. He mistook Byron's self-control for an admission of worthlessness, and he never questioned the assumption because it made his own behavior easier to justify.
The first truly humiliating incident happened on a Tuesday evening near the back entrance. Byron had taken his scheduled thirty-minute break and was sitting on a folding chair with a ham sandwich wrapped in wax paper. The training floor had not yet filled with the late-session crowd, and the only sound nearby was a vending machine cycling through its cooling system. Byron was thinking about replacing the worn soles on his boots. The matter seemed manageable until Colt came through the main doors with two sparring partners and a camera crew.
Colt was filming an installment of a series Wade called Champion Life. The crew wanted candid scenes that felt spontaneous, even though most were carefully staged and filmed several times. Colt entered the hallway making a joke about how nobody at the gym worked as hard as he did. Then he saw Byron eating. His eyes brightened with the expression Nora would later recognize as the beginning of a problem.
"What is this?" Colt asked, pointing at the chair. "You eating on my floor?"
"I'm on my break, Mr. Brennan," Byron replied. "This is the employee area."
"Your break is outside with the rest of the strays."
The cameraman hesitated, and then Colt kicked one leg of the folding chair aside. Byron lost his balance and landed heavily on one knee. The sandwich fell onto the concrete, the bread opening against a streak of dust from the loading door. Pain flashed through his left leg, bright and familiar, but his first instinct was to stop himself from falling into the nearby equipment rack. Colt's sparring partners laughed, relieved that their boss seemed to find the moment entertaining.