Chapter 5 - The Ten Points They Stole“Show me.”
Evelyn Brooks moved beside Priya's computer.
The room was small, crowded, and growing uncomfortably warm.
Priya enlarged the scheduled adjustment.
It wasn't a completed score change.
It was an administrative instruction that would activate after the championship's final round unless someone canceled it.
The instruction applied only to Lane Twelve.
My lane.
Its listed justification was equipment irregularity.
Its supporting evidence field was empty.
Evelyn stared at the screen.
“This is unacceptable.”
I looked at Priya.
“Can you preserve everything?”
“Already doing it.”
She disconnected the scoring workstation from the competition's administrative network and began documenting the audit history.
Evelyn called the competition's independent oversight panel.
Within twenty minutes, the championship was temporarily suspended.
The crowd did not take the announcement well.
Some competitors wanted the event canceled.
Others demanded an immediate investigation.
A few insisted the scoring system was obviously unreliable and every round should be repeated.
I stood near my truck while photographers kept their cameras trained on me.
Calloway approached with two bottles of water.
He handed me one.
“Drink.”
“I'm not thirsty.”
“Then hold it and look intimidating.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
He leaned against the truck.
“This is getting ugly.”
“It's been ugly since yesterday.”
“No. Yesterday was a bully with a microphone. Today somebody is manipulating a six-figure competition.”
I looked toward the sponsor tents.
“You think Hale's involved?”
“I think people with enough money sometimes mistake rules for suggestions.”
He studied my expression.
“What aren't you telling me, Tara?”
For a moment, I considered explaining Black Dawn.
Jonah.
The communications failure.
The man in the charcoal suit who had recognized more than he admitted.
But I was still bound by restrictions on what I could disclose.
And Calloway didn't deserve to become another person trapped in that story.
“There's an investigation,” I said. “I can't talk about the details.”
He nodded.
“Then I won't ask you to.”
“Thanks.”
“But if anybody tries to make you disappear from the leaderboard again, I'll stand beside you.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He seemed genuinely surprised.
“Because you're a Marine's idea of a nightmare.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He grinned.
“You don't talk much. You don't complain. And you keep beating everybody.”
Then his expression grew serious.
“Also, because what's happening is wrong.”
Those last words stayed with me.
I'd spent years believing strength meant handling everything alone.
But standing beside my truck, listening to a Marine I had met only two days earlier, I began to wonder whether independence and isolation were the same thing.
An hour later, Evelyn called us into a conference room.
The oversight panel had verified the original first-round records.
My score was fifty.
The score change had not been supported by any approved calibration report.
Priya produced the original scoring tablet records, printed range sheets, and synchronized video footage.
Each showed five confirmed hits.
The panel ordered my total restored.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Marcus Vale, who had been invited as a representative of the leading competitors, stood.
“Good.”
Crawford's face darkened.
“Mr. Vale, you're the current leader. Surely you have concerns about the integrity of—”
“I do,” Marcus interrupted.
He pointed toward the evidence.
“And the evidence says she earned fifty points.”
One of the civilian judges nodded.
The others agreed.
Evelyn signed the correction.
Tara Wells: 98.
Marcus Vale: 98.
Daniel Calloway: 96.
The final would determine the winner.
But the matter wasn't finished.
Lena Price, the operations manager whose credentials had been used for the unauthorized change, had disappeared from the championship grounds.
Her office was locked.
Her phone went unanswered.
According to security records, she'd left through the east service gate twenty minutes after Priya flagged the suspicious entry.
Special Agent Ellis requested preservation of the relevant records.
Then my phone rang.
Kathleen Porter.
I answered immediately.
“How's Mama?”
“She had a difficult morning, sweetheart, but she's resting.”
Relief passed through me.
“Did the doctor say anything?”
“They're still waiting on the insurance appeal. The specialist wants another meeting tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes.
“Okay. I'll call the hospital.”
Kathleen hesitated.
“Tara, there's something else.”
Something in her voice made me straighten.
“What happened?”
“A man called the house.”
“What man?”
“He said he represented a charitable organization that helps people pay for medical treatment.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What did he want?”
“He asked whether your mother would be willing to accept a private financial arrangement.”
I looked toward the sponsor tents.
“What kind of arrangement?”
Kathleen lowered her voice.
“He said your mother could receive the treatment funding without waiting for insurance, but only if you withdrew from the competition.”
I stopped breathing for a moment.
“Did he give his name?”
“No. Your mother told him she wasn't comfortable making decisions without you.”
“Good.”
“He sounded very polite, Tara.”
“That doesn't mean he's a good man.”
“I know, honey.”
I heard her take a shaky breath.
“There's one more thing.”
“What?”
“When your mother asked how he knew about her illness, he told her he had friends who understood your military history.”
The hair rose along my arms.
Kathleen continued.
“He said your daughter should remember that some secrets are expensive.”
I looked toward the command building.
“Did he threaten Mama?”
“Not directly.”
“Tell me exactly what he said.”
Kathleen paused.
Then she repeated the final sentence.
“Tell Angel that the last time she ignored orders, someone didn't come home.”
I gripped the edge of my truck.
For twelve years, I'd carried the memory of Jonah Reed's death.
May you like
Now somebody was using it to threaten my family.
And that changed everything.
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