Chapter 1 - THE BRIEFCASE ON THE TABLECole Maddox had been hit by men who outweighed him by thirty pounds.
He had taken hooks that split his lip, body shots that folded him over, and uppercuts that made entire arenas disappear behind white flashes.
None of those hits unsettled him as much as the briefcase on the wooden table.
Roman Drake opened it slowly.
Stacks of hundred-dollar bills filled the case.
No envelopes.
No explanation.
Just money.
Cole stood near the heavy bag, white wraps still around his hands after an evening session. Sweat darkened the gray tank top across his chest.
Championship belts from regional circuits and old amateur medals covered the wall behind him.
Roman glanced at them and smiled.
“Nice collection.”
Cole said nothing.
Roman tapped the open briefcase.
“Tomorrow, you lose.”
Cole looked down at the cash.
Then back at Roman.
Behind him stood two men Cole had seen around Vegas before.
Big.
Quiet.
The kind who never needed to introduce themselves.
Roman pushed the briefcase across the table.
“All of this is yours.”
Cole did not move.
“How much?”
Roman smiled wider.
“Enough that you never have to let another man punch you for money.”
Cole almost laughed.
Roman always talked as if everyone had a price.
Maybe most people did.
Cole’s trainer, Frank Delaney, had warned him about Roman years ago.
“If Drake ever offers you anything,” Frank once said, “the price is never what’s written on the paper.”
Cole looked at the money.
“What round?”
Roman seemed pleased.
He mistook the question for interest.
“Sixth.”
Cole nodded slowly.
Roman leaned back.
“Nothing dramatic. Let Mercer catch you clean. Stay down. Everybody goes home happy.”
Darius Mercer.
WBA Continental champion.
Twenty-eight years old.
Explosive left hook.
Undefeated.
And tomorrow night, Cole was supposed to fight him in the biggest bout of his career.
The winner would receive a mandatory title eliminator.
One more fight after that and Cole could be challenging for a world belt.
Roman apparently had other plans.
Cole asked:
“How much do you have on him?”
Roman’s smile faded slightly.
“That’s not your concern.”
“It is if you’re buying my loss.”
Roman rested both hands on the table.
Heavy tattoos covered his fingers.
“You’re confusing business with curiosity.”
Cole stepped closer.
“No. I’m deciding whether you’re stupid enough to think I’d take this.”
The room changed.
One of Roman’s men shifted near the doorway.
Roman stared at Cole.
Then laughed once.
“Just take one fall.”
Cole did not blink.
“Walk away rich.”
“I don’t throw fights.”
Roman’s smile disappeared.
“You know who you’re defying?”
Cole tightened one wrapped fist.
“I know exactly who you are.”
Roman leaned forward.
Cole continued.
“And tomorrow, I’m knocking Mercer out.”
Silence.
Roman’s face hardened.
For years, Las Vegas gossip had made him sound almost mythical.
Promoters owed him.
Casino hosts feared him.
Bookmakers answered his calls.
Boxers who crossed him suddenly lost opportunities.
Some lost more.
Cole had never known which stories were true.
He knew one thing now.
Roman hated hearing no.
The briefcase snapped shut.
BANG.
Roman stood.
“You really think you can say no to me?”
Cole held his ground.
“I just did.”
Roman walked around the table.
He stopped less than a foot away.
Did not touch Cole.
Did not need to.
“You’ve spent fifteen years getting ready for tomorrow.”
Cole said nothing.
Roman glanced at the belts on the wall.
“Golden Gloves at nineteen.”
Another.
“NABA regional title at twenty-six.”
Another.
“Three straight eliminators.”
His eyes returned to Cole.
“I know your entire career.”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
“That supposed to impress me?”
“No.”
Roman smiled faintly.
“It’s supposed to tell you I know what you have to lose.”
Cole heard movement behind him.
The two men stepped into the doorway.
Blocking it.
Cole looked once.
Then back at Roman.
Roman seemed almost amused again.
“You still want to win tomorrow?”
Cole did not answer.
Roman glanced toward the doorway.
“First…”
His eyes returned to Cole.
“…make it to the ring.”
Cole’s fist clenched.
Roman walked past him.
His men followed.
At the doorway, Roman stopped.
“Oh.”
Cole turned.
Roman nodded toward the briefcase.
“I’ll leave the offer open until midnight.”
“Take it with you.”
Roman smiled.
“Think about it.”
Then he disappeared into the hallway.
Cole stood alone.
The briefcase remained on the table.
For nearly a minute, he did not touch it.
Then the training room door opened again.
Frank Delaney entered carrying a stopwatch.
He stopped when he saw the case.
“What the hell is that?”
Cole looked at his trainer.
“Roman Drake.”
Frank’s face changed instantly.
“What did he want?”
Cole stared at the closed briefcase.
“He wants me to lose tomorrow.”
Frank slowly shut the door.
“And what did you tell him?”
Cole looked at him.
“That I’m knocking Mercer out.”
Frank’s expression did not become proud.
It became frightened.
“Cole…”
“What?”
Frank walked toward the window and pulled down the blind.
Then he turned.
“You need to leave Vegas tonight.”
Cole laughed.
“I’m fighting tomorrow.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Frank lowered his voice.
“You don’t understand what you just stepped into.”
Cole stared at him.
“No.”
He pointed toward the cash.
“But I think you do.”
Frank’s face went still.
Cole had known him for twelve years.
Long enough to recognize guilt.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Frank looked at the belts on the wall.
Then at Cole.
“Your father.”
Cole stopped breathing.
“What about him?”
Frank swallowed.
“Roman knew him.”
Cole stared.
“My father died ten years ago.”
“I know.”
“How did Roman know him?”
Frank looked toward the closed door.
May you like
Then said the sentence that changed everything.
“Because Roman once paid your father to lose too.”
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