Chapter 3 - Three WomenEmily was furious when I returned home.
Not frightened.
Not relieved.
Furious.
“You promised you were only going to talk.”
“I did talk.”
“You put Travis on the floor!”
“After he swung at me.”
“That video is everywhere!”
She held out her phone.
The clip had already been reposted dozens of times.
There I was.
Gray beard.
Work boots.
Plaid shirt.
Travis charging.
Me redirecting him onto the mat.
The caption read:
MMA PRO TRIES TO ATTACK GIRLFRIEND’S OLD DAD. HUGE MISTAKE.
I hated it.
Not because of how I looked.
Because the internet had turned Emily’s trauma into entertainment.
Comments flew past beneath the video.
OLD MAN STILL GOT IT.
TRAVIS GOT HUMBLED.
WHO IS THIS GRANDPA?
Some were already speculating about Emily.
Calling her names.
Accusing her of provoking Travis.
“That’s why I didn’t want this,” she said.
I put my phone face down.
“You’re right.”
She stopped.
She had expected me to defend myself.
“I should have left sooner.”
Her anger softened slightly.
“I went because I wanted him to know you weren’t alone. But I made part of it about me.”
Emily sat at the kitchen table.
“Travis is going to make my life hell.”
“No.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know his kind.”
Her eyes filled.
“He has videos.”
My stomach tightened.
“What videos?”
“Of me.”
I waited.
She stared at her hands.
“Nothing… nothing like that.”
Relief, briefly.
“Videos of arguments. When I’m crying. When I’m yelling. He starts recording after he’s been pushing me for an hour. Then he acts calm.”
That technique was familiar too.
Provocation.
Record the reaction.
Erase the cause.
“He says if I accuse him of anything, he’ll prove I’m unstable.”
“When did this start?”
“About two months in.”
“Emily.”
“I know.”
“No. Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t punish yourself for believing someone you loved.”
Her face crumpled.
I moved beside her.
She whispered, “How did I let this happen?”
“You didn’t let anything happen.”
She leaned against me.
For a while, she was twelve again.
I wished life worked backward.
I wished fathers could return to the exact moment before their children encountered something terrible and simply close the door.
But we can’t.
All we can do is stand beside them afterward.
Emily’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then mine rang.
Ramirez.
“David.”
“Morning.”
“You sitting down?”
“No.”
“You should.”
I looked at Emily.
“What happened?”
“That livestream got attention.”
“I noticed.”
“I got contacted by someone.”
“Who?”
“A woman named Sarah Keene.”
Emily looked up.
I put Ramirez on speaker.
“She dated Travis three years ago.”
Emily went still.
Ramirez continued.
“She says she ended up in urgent care twice.”
“What?”
“She never reported him.”
Emily covered her mouth.
“Why?”
“Same reason your daughter hesitated, probably.”
Ramirez paused.
“There’s another woman too. Jenna Pike. And somebody named Monica Alvarez.”
Emily whispered, “Monica?”
“You know her?”
“She used to train at Iron Dominion.”
I felt something cold settle inside me.
“This isn’t one incident.”
“No,” Ramirez said. “Doesn’t look like it.”
That afternoon Detective Karen Holt came to my house.
She was forty-something, sharp-eyed, patient, and unimpressed by Travis’s online celebrity.
She interviewed Emily at the kitchen table.
I stayed in the workshop.
That was harder than walking into Iron Dominion.
Every instinct told me to remain beside my daughter.
But this was her statement.
Her voice.
Her decision.
An hour later Holt found me sanding the same chair leg for the twentieth time.
“She’s brave.”
I set the sandpaper down.
“She shouldn’t have to be.”
“No.”
“Are you arresting him?”
“We need to build the case correctly.”
“That sounds like no.”
“It means I don’t want to give his attorney an easy way to make this disappear.”
I respected that.
Didn’t like it.
Respected it.
“What about the other women?”
“I’ll speak to them.”
“Holt.”
She paused.
“If he threatens Emily again—”
“Call us.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“I know.”
She met my eyes.
“You spent a career teaching controlled violence.”
“Part of one.”
“Then you understand something most people don’t.”
“What?”
“How quickly righteous anger becomes evidence for the other side.”
That landed.
“Let us handle Travis.”
“I intend to.”
She nodded.
“I hope so.”
That evening, Travis posted a video.
He sat alone in Iron Dominion wearing a black hoodie.
No swagger.
No smile.
Perfect lighting.
“I never thought I’d have to discuss my private relationship online…”
Emily stared at the screen.
I wanted to turn it off.
She stopped me.
“I need to hear what he says.”
So we listened.
He called the situation “a tragic misunderstanding.”
He said Emily had struggled emotionally.
He said she had attacked him.
He said he restrained her because he feared she might hurt herself.
Then he discussed me.
“Her father came into my workplace yesterday and assaulted several people.”
I almost admired the craftsmanship.
Not the morality.
The structure.
Travis wasn’t improvising.
Someone had prepared him.
He looked directly into the camera.
“I hope Emily gets the help she needs.”
The video ended.
Emily was pale.
“He warned me he’d do this.”
Within minutes, comments appeared.
People questioned her.
Strangers dissected her photographs.
Someone posted her employer’s address.
Then a second video surfaced.
Emily screaming at Travis in their apartment.
No beginning.
No context.
Just my daughter yelling:
“Get away from me!”
Travis’s voice remained calm behind the camera.
“See? This is what I deal with.”
Emily started shaking.
“That was the night he locked the door.”
“What?”
“I tried leaving. He stood in front of it.”
Another missing piece.
The next morning, Sarah Keene arrived.
Thirty-two.
Nurse.
Married now.
She carried a folder.
Emily recognized her from Travis’s old photographs.
Sarah looked terrified walking through the door.
Then she saw Emily’s bruised face.
Her expression changed.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered.
Emily stood.
“For what?”
“For never saying anything.”
Sarah opened the folder.
Medical records.
Photographs.
Messages.
Travis apologizing.
Travis promising.
Travis blaming.
Same script.
Different woman.
Then Jenna arrived.
Then Monica joined by video call.
Three women.
Four including Emily.
Same man.
Same pattern.
Sarah had one more thing.
An audio recording.
Travis’s voice filled my living room.
“If you ever tell anyone what happened, I’ll make sure everybody knows you’re crazy.”
Emily closed her eyes.
Sarah reached across the table.
“He said that to you too, didn’t he?”
Emily nodded.
Sarah began crying.
So did Jenna.
I walked outside.
Not because I was uncomfortable with tears.
Because suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
Four women.
Four lives.
And Wade Mercer had trained Travis through almost all of it.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man spoke.
“You David Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“This is Nolan Pierce.”
The name meant something.
Sports lawyer.
Represented fighters.
“I represent Travis Cole.”
“Congratulations.”
“You need to stop interfering with my client.”
“I haven’t contacted your client.”
“You invaded his gym.”
“I entered a public business.”
“You assaulted him.”
“He swung first. There’s video.”
Silence.
Then:
“Travis is prepared to seek a restraining order.”
“Good.”
Pierce paused.
“Good?”
“Then he’ll have to swear under oath why he thinks he needs one.”
Silence again.
I continued.
“And lawyers dislike clients lying under oath.”
His tone cooled.
“You think you’re clever.”
“No.”
I looked through the window at four women sitting around my kitchen table.
“I think your client is scared.”
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“Actually, Mr. Pierce…”
I lowered my voice.
“I’m beginning to.”
I hung up.
Across town, Iron Dominion announced Travis would still headline Saturday’s regional championship event.
Wade Mercer posted one sentence:
We stand behind our fighters.
That sentence changed everything.
Because until then, this had been about Travis.
May you like
Now Wade had chosen his side.
And within forty-eight hours, we were going to learn exactly how much he had helped Travis hide.
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