Chapter 6 - THE LAST ROUNDThe fire damage was limited to our living room because Thomas reacted quickly.
The emotional damage was harder to measure.
For the first time, Ryan wanted revenge.
Not justice.
Revenge.
“I want five minutes alone with him.”
We were standing in the driveway watching firefighters pack equipment.
I looked at my husband.
“No, you don’t.”
“He tried to burn our house down while we were sleeping.”
“I know.”
“He could’ve killed you.”
“I know.”
“He could’ve killed Dad.”
“I know.”
Ryan’s hands shook.
“And you’re standing there like none of this bothers you.”
That hurt.
Not because he meant it.
Because I understood it.
“I’m standing here calmly because somebody has to.”
He turned away.
I waited.
Then said, “You think I don’t want to hurt him?”
Ryan looked at me.
“I know exactly how.”
That stopped him.
“I know how to break his arm. I know how to dislocate his shoulder. I know how to choke him unconscious. I know fifty ways to make him regret touching you.”
My voice remained quiet.
“And that is precisely why I won’t.”
Ryan’s anger slowly changed.
I touched his chest.
“He has already destroyed his own life. Don’t let him take yours too.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
Then pulled me against him.
For several minutes, we stood in our driveway while smoke drifted from our home.
Police issued an arrest warrant for Derek.
Attempted arson.
Violation of the protective order.
Witness intimidation.
Additional financial charges were expected.
News coverage exploded.
For the first time, reporters stopped focusing on my MMA past.
The story had become larger.
Carver.
Fraud.
Corruption.
Arson.
Derek.
And Diane.
She was not arrested, but investigators questioned her repeatedly.
Three days after the attack, she came to our temporary hotel.
Ryan almost refused to see her.
Thomas agreed.
We met in the lobby.
Diane seemed twenty years older.
“I know where Derek might be.”
Everyone became still.
“Where?” Ryan asked.
“There’s an old rental property Vincent owns near Mill Creek.”
“Tell police.”
“I did.”
“Then why are you here?”
She looked at Thomas.
“Because I need you to know I’m sorry.”
Thomas said nothing.
“I thought loving Derek meant protecting him.”
Thomas’s expression remained guarded.
“I told myself he was unlucky. Misunderstood. That people judged him too harshly.”
She wiped tears from her face.
“But every time I saved him from a consequence, he became worse.”
Ryan looked at her.
“Why didn’t you protect us?”
Diane had no answer.
That silence was probably more truthful than anything she could have said.
Police raided the Mill Creek property.
Empty.
But Derek had been there.
Food.
Clothes.
A mattress.
Most importantly, a laptop.
The laptop contained records connecting him to Carver’s operation.
It also contained searches.
My name.
My old fights.
My gym.
Ryan’s workplace.
Melissa’s address.
Thomas’s hospital.
That discovery changed how I slept.
I began waking at every hallway sound.
I checked locks twice.
Sometimes three times.
I stopped pretending that professional fighting experience made me immune to fear.
Fear is not weakness.
Fear is information.
And mine was telling me Derek had become obsessed.
Eddie visited.
He brought no inspirational speeches.
Just coffee.
We sat in the hotel breakfast area.
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“You sleeping?”
“Not much.”
“Eating?”
“Yes.”
“Training?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I stared at him.
“You think now is a good time to train?”
“I think now is a good time to remember your body belongs to you.”
That afternoon, we found a small private gym.
I hit pads for the first time in years.
Not hard.
Not competitively.
Just enough.
Jab.
Cross.
Move.
Breathe.
For forty minutes, I stopped being the woman someone was hunting.
I was simply Claire.
When we finished, Eddie held the pads against his chest.
“You know what made you champion?”
“My charming personality?”
“You knew when not to fight.”
I smiled.
“Pretty sure you used to complain about that.”
“I was younger and stupid.”
“You were fifty.”
“Exactly.”
Then his face grew serious.
“When Derek comes, because idiots like him usually do, you survive. You don’t prove anything.”
I nodded.
“Promise.”
“Promise.”
Two nights later, Detective Patel called.
They had located Derek.
His phone briefly connected to a tower near our town.
Then disappeared again.
Police believed he was moving toward Diane’s house.
Officers went there.
Nothing.
The following morning, Diane vanished.
Her car remained home.
Her purse was inside.
Her phone was on the kitchen floor.
Derek had taken his mother.
Whether she went willingly initially did not matter.
A neighbor’s camera captured him pushing her into a sedan.
Now the search became urgent.
Hours passed.
Then Diane called Ryan.
Her voice was trembling.
“Ryan.”
“Mom? Where are you?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
A male voice shouted in the background.
Derek.
“Give me the phone!”
The line went dead.
Police traced the call to an industrial area near Carver Construction.
Warehouses.
Abandoned offices.
Storage yards.
Officers flooded the area.
Ryan tried to go.
Police stopped him.
I stayed with him at the command post.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Derek.
“Hello, champ.”
I signaled Detective Patel.
He immediately began recording.
“Where’s Diane?”
“With me.”
“Is she okay?”
“For now.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
Ryan shook his head violently.
I remained calm.
“For what?”
“You ruined everything.”
“No, Derek.”
“STOP SAYING THAT!”
His scream distorted the phone.
Then quiet.
“Come to the old Carver training warehouse.”
Patel mouthed: keep him talking.
“Why?”
“Because you think you’re better than me.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“It became about you when you threw me on the ground in front of everyone.”
There it was.
Not the fraud.
Not Vincent.
Not prison.
Humiliation.
Derek’s entire world revolved around the moment someone saw through him.
“You grabbed me.”
“You embarrassed me.”
“You punched Ryan.”
“He always thought he was better than me.”
Ryan looked devastated.
I said, “Let Diane leave.”
“Come here.”
“Let her leave first.”
“You have thirty minutes.”
The call ended.
Police already knew the warehouse.
SWAT teams moved.
I was absolutely forbidden from approaching.
I had no intention of disobeying.
Then something went wrong.
Derek spotted officers.
He moved Diane.
Gunshots were reported.
Nobody knew whether anyone had been hit.
For twenty unbearable minutes, we heard radio traffic.
Then:
“Suspect fleeing south.”
A sedan exploded through a warehouse gate.
Police pursued.
Derek abandoned the vehicle near a wooded subdivision.
Diane was found inside.
Alive.
Bruised.
Terrified.
But alive.
Derek disappeared again.
Toward our neighborhood.
My neighborhood.
The repaired house stood empty while we stayed at the hotel.
Or so everyone believed.
Except Thomas had returned that morning to collect medication.
I grabbed Ryan’s arm.
“Your dad.”
His face turned white.
We called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Police units redirected.
We were told to remain where we were.
Ten minutes later, Thomas called.
Whispering.
“He’s here.”
Ryan stopped breathing.
“Dad?”
“He’s downstairs.”
The line crackled.
May you like
Thomas whispered:
“Derek’s in the house.”
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