Chapter 4 - THE BOY AT THE WINDOWCole was moving before I fully processed the message.
“Call Noah.”
I did.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Cole grabbed his keys.
“Emma, you stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You were strangled six hours ago.”
“And Noah has Derek outside his house because he tried to help me.”
Cole stopped.
He knew arguing would waste time.
“Shoes.”
Thirty seconds later we were in the truck.
I called 911 while Cole drove.
The dispatcher asked for Noah’s address.
Fortunately, I had it from the gym member group.
“Is the suspect armed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has he threatened the resident?”
“I don’t know.”
That phrase made me feel useless.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
Noah finally answered.
He was whispering.
“Emma?”
“Where are you?”
“My bedroom.”
“Is Derek still there?”
“I think so.”
“What happened?”
“He called me.”
“Why did you answer?”
“I didn’t know it was him. He used another number.”
Cole held out his hand.
I put the phone on speaker.
“Noah,” he said calmly, “are you alone?”
“My mom’s working overnight.”
“Doors locked?”
“Yes.”
“Windows?”
“Yes.”
“Do not go outside.”
“He knows I have the video.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“He said if I send it anywhere, he’ll destroy my life.”
Cole’s face didn’t change.
“Did you send it anywhere?”
Noah hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“My email.”
“Anywhere else?”
“I sent it to my cousin.”
“Good.”
That one word steadied Noah.
Then he whispered, “Wait.”
“What?”
“I hear something.”
My stomach tightened.
A faint sound came through the phone.
Metal.
Scraping.
Noah breathed, “He’s at the back door.”
Cole accelerated.
“Police are coming. Stay in your room. Lock it.”
“I am.”
“Move away from the door and window.”
Another sound.
Then banging.
My hands began shaking.
“Noah?”
“I’m here.”
The banging stopped.
For five long seconds there was silence.
Then a man shouted through the house.
“Noah!”
Derek.
Even through the phone, I recognized him.
“You want to ruin people’s lives over a stupid gym video?”
Noah stopped breathing.
Cole said quietly, “Do not answer him.”
Derek shouted again.
“I just want to talk!”
Cole muttered, “No, he doesn’t.”
Sirens appeared in the distance.
Noah heard them.
So did Derek.
Suddenly something slammed.
Then Noah whispered, “He’s leaving.”
Two minutes later, police arrived.
Derek was gone.
But his SUV had been caught by a neighbor’s doorbell camera.
That changed the conversation from suspicion to evidence.
By 8:30 that morning, Noah and his mother were giving statements.
The full gym video was copied by police.
So was the footage of Derek’s vehicle.
I sat on Noah’s couch while his mother, Maria, hugged him hard enough to embarrass a seventeen-year-old.
Then she turned to me.
“You’re Emma?”
“Yes.”
She walked across the room and wrapped her arms around me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not listening to him sooner.”
Noah looked down.
Maria explained.
“He told me months ago that something felt wrong at that gym. I thought he meant training was hard.”
Noah stared at the floor.
“Derek used to make me stay after class.”
Cole’s head lifted.
“For what?”
“Extra rounds.”
“With other students?”
“Usually just him.”
I felt sick.
“Did he hurt you?”
Noah shrugged.
“Not like Emma.”
That phrase again.
Not like.
As though abuse needed rankings.
Cole sat across from him.
“Did you ever tap?”
“Yes.”
“And he continued?”
“A couple times.”
Maria’s face crumbled.
“Noah.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
Cole’s voice became firm.
“Don’t protect him.”
Noah looked up.
“I’m not.”
“You are. Maybe because everyone at Apex taught you that surviving something means it was acceptable.”
Noah’s eyes filled.
Cole softened.
“You don’t need to minimize it for us.”
The kid nodded.
That afternoon, Trevor connected me with three former Apex members.
By evening, there were seven.
By the following morning, twelve.
Different years.
Different injuries.
Same names.
Derek.
Vince.
And always the same pattern.
Someone got hurt.
They complained.
Vince told them they were emotional.
Derek claimed the tap was unclear.
Witnesses stayed quiet.
The injured member disappeared.
A few people had received refunds.
Two had medical bills paid.
One signed a nondisclosure agreement.
Another had been threatened with a defamation lawsuit.
This wasn't a gym culture problem anymore.
It was a system.
Rachel created a private online group.
Cole hated the idea at first.
“Anything written can leak.”
“So?”
“So people need to stick to what they personally witnessed. No exaggeration.”
I looked at him.
“You sound like an attorney.”
“I spent years writing reports where a bad adjective could create a problem six months later.”
That was as much explanation as I got.
The group became a record.
Dates.
Injuries.
Screenshots.
Messages.
One former member had saved an email from Vince saying Derek was “authorized to teach advanced enforcement techniques.”
Another had a text from Derek:
If you can’t handle pain after tapping, real life will eat you alive.
The most disturbing story came from a woman named Kelly Vaughn.
She was thirty-one now.
Three years earlier, Derek had dislocated her elbow.
After she tapped.
She had audio.
Not of the incident.
Of the meeting afterward.
Vince’s voice was clear.
“You know Derek. Sometimes his adrenaline goes too far.”
Kelly replied, “Then why is he teaching?”
Vince said, “Because he’s good.”
Kelly: “He ignored my tap.”
Vince: “And we’re offering to cover your deductible.”
Then Derek’s voice:
“You want an apology or you want to get better?”
Cole listened twice.
Then handed the phone back.
“That’s useful.”
Kelly laughed bitterly.
“That’s all?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that he’s a monster.”
Cole shook his head.
“He’s a man who made choices.”
She stared at him.
“That seems like a strange distinction.”
“No.”
Cole’s voice was quiet.
“Monsters are easy. You tell yourself they’re different from everyone else. Men who make choices are harder, because it means anyone can become dangerous if nobody makes them face consequences.”
Nobody spoke for a moment.
That line stayed with me.
Later that night, Cole and I were eating takeout at my kitchen counter when someone knocked.
Three knocks.
Slow.
I froze.
Cole stood.
“Expecting anyone?”
“No.”
He moved to the door but didn't open it.
“Who is it?”
A woman answered.
“My name is Lauren Collins.”
I looked at Cole.
Collins.
Derek.
Cole opened the door only as far as the chain allowed.
A woman in her mid-thirties stood on the porch.
She looked exhausted.
“What do you want?” Cole asked.
She swallowed.
“I’m Derek’s wife.”
My pulse spiked.
Cole said nothing.
Lauren looked toward me.
“Emma?”
“Yes.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“My husband.”
Cole studied her.
“Why?”
She reached into her purse slowly.
Cole’s posture changed.
She stopped.
“It’s just a flash drive.”
He opened the door enough for her to hand it through.
“What’s on it?”
Lauren looked over her shoulder toward the street.
“Everything he thought nobody would ever see.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
“Videos.”
“Of what?”
“Training sessions. Messages. Financial records.”
Cole’s expression sharpened.
“Why do you have them?”
“Because Derek saves everything.”
“Why?”
Lauren gave a bitter laugh.
“He says information is leverage.”
I looked at the drive.
“Why bring it to me?”
Her eyes finally met mine.
“Because he came home this morning and told me he was going to make that little girl from the gym regret ever accusing him.”
I felt anger rise.
“I’m twenty-six.”
Lauren shook her head.
“That’s how he talks about women when he wants to make them smaller.”
That silenced me.
She continued.
“I’ve spent nine years letting him make everyone smaller.”
Her voice broke.
“I’m done.”
Cole asked, “Does he know you copied these files?”
“No.”
“Could he discover it?”
“Yes.”
“Then you shouldn't go home.”
She laughed softly.
“You sound exactly like my sister.”
“Your sister is right.”
Lauren looked toward the street again.
“I have somewhere to go.”
Cole shook his head.
“Not if he knows where.”
She hesitated.
That told us everything.
I stepped forward.
“Lauren.”
She looked at me.
“Come inside.”
For the first time, she looked frightened.
Not of us.
Of saying yes.
Finally she stepped through the doorway.
Cole closed the door.
Ten minutes later, we opened the flash drive on a laptop disconnected from the internet.
Folders appeared.
Dozens.
Then hundreds.
DEREK TRAINING.
APEX FINANCE.
INCIDENTS.
SETTLEMENTS.
PRIVATE.
Cole clicked the folder labeled INCIDENTS.
My stomach twisted.
Video files.
Names.
Dates.
Some went back seven years.
Lauren whispered, “He watches them.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“When he’s angry, he watches videos of people he beat.”
Cole stared at the screen.
Then he opened one file.
A younger Derek appeared on the Apex mat.
A man tapped repeatedly beneath him.
Derek held the submission.
Three seconds.
Four.
Five.
The man screamed.
I turned away.
Cole closed the video.
Then he noticed another folder.
NOTES.
Inside was a spreadsheet.
Names.
Injuries.
Payments.
Complaints.
And beside several names, one word:
RISK.
My name was already there.
EMMA HAYES — RISK: HIGH.
Noah’s name was underneath.
NOAH SANTOS — VIDEO — CONTAIN.
Lauren covered her mouth.
Cole leaned closer to the screen.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
He pointed toward a third name.
I read it.
COLE HAYES — BACKGROUND CHECK PENDING.
My blood went cold.
“He’s researching you.”
Cole didn't respond.
At the bottom of the spreadsheet was another note.
If military connection confirmed, use press contact.
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Cole shut the laptop.
“It means Derek isn't preparing to defend himself.”
“What is he preparing to do?”
May you like
Cole looked toward the dark front window.
“Attack first.”
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