Chapter 5
Mateo remembered the tablet while we were sitting in his car across from Vale Athletics, watching the evening classes arrive without us.
Parents pulled into the loading zone. Kids hurried through the glass doors carrying gym bags, their faces bright in the lobby light. I kept my hands folded in my lap. My suspension notice had been clear: I wasn't allowed inside without Damon's written permission.
Mateo leaned forward, staring through the windshield. “The front-desk tablet.”
I looked at him.
“It had both appointments on it that day. Yours and mine.” His brow tightened. “I checked my client list when I came in. Your private session was on the same screen.”
“Coaches weren't supposed to see each other's private bookings.”
“They weren't. June had the full schedule open.”
My appointment had been added less than an hour before I received the message directing me to the alley. Mateo's had been added just as late. Someone with access could have seen both, known when we'd be free, and sent us separate instructions.
That wasn't proof. But it was the first path that didn't depend on guessing what Damon might have done.
June Park's shift ended at eight. We waited at a coffee shop half a block away rather than risk being seen near the gym entrance. The place smelled like burned espresso and cinnamon syrup. Mateo bought one coffee and left it untouched between us.
At eight twelve, June came through the door wearing her Vale polo under an open denim jacket. She stopped when she saw me.
“I can't be part of whatever this is,” she said.
“You don't know what it is yet,” Mateo said.
“I know Lena's suspended, and I know Damon asked whether either of you had contacted me.”
The words settled between us. I slid farther into the booth, leaving the outside seat open.
“You can leave,” I said. “We won't follow you.”
June glanced toward the counter, then sat down without taking off her jacket.
Mateo explained what he remembered from the scheduling screen. He kept his voice low and stuck to details: the date, the two private appointments, the timing of the messages. He didn't mention our theories.
June rubbed one thumb along the edge of her phone. “Those appointments shouldn't have been visible together unless the tablet was in coordinator view.”
“Who had it?” I asked.
She looked at me, then away. Outside, a city bus sighed at the curb.
“Damon borrowed it,” she said. “Maybe twenty minutes before the first message was sent.”
My breathing went shallow, but I kept my face still. “Did he say why?”
“He said he needed to check room assignments. He took it into his office and brought it back after the youth conditioning class started.” June pressed her lips together. “That doesn't mean he sent anything.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn't.”
She looked surprised that I agreed.
Mateo asked whether the tablet tracked access. June shook her head. “Not the way you're hoping. But the scheduling app sends automatic notifications when appointments are created or changed. There's a history panel. Time stamps, account name, device ID.”
“Can it be deleted?” he asked.
“Probably by an administrator.”
Damon was the administrator.
June pushed herself halfway out of the booth. “I need my hours. My mom's insurance doesn't cover everything, and Damon makes the schedule. If I sign something or talk to the foundation, he'll know.”
I felt the old instinct rise in me—the urge to persuade her before the chance disappeared. I knew exactly what fear did when someone cornered it. Damon had used that knowledge on me until my signature sat beneath numbers I hadn't believed.
So I moved my hands off the table.
“I'm not asking you to report him,” I said. “I'm asking you not to let the history disappear without anyone noticing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“If you can preserve it without changing anything, do that. A normal export, a screenshot, whatever the system already allows. Don't break policy. Don't send it to us if that puts you at risk. Just keep it somewhere Damon can't casually erase, and decide later.”
Mateo stayed silent. He didn't improve my request or push her for an answer.
June stood and pulled her jacket closed. “I didn't say I'd do it.”
“I know.”
She left without looking back.
Through the window, I watched her pause at the corner. The Vale sign glowed behind her, reflected faintly in the coffee shop glass. She took out her phone, stared at the screen, then put it away and crossed with the light.
Mateo finally wrapped both hands around his cold coffee.
“She might warn him,” he said.
“She might.”
“And if she doesn't?”
I looked toward the gym. Damon had touched the one device that could connect our appointments to the messages, but access was still only access. Without the history, we had a frightened employee's memory and another reason for him to call me vindictive.
May you like
“If she doesn't,” I said, “we may have something that existed before he knew we were looking.”
For the first time that night, Mateo lifted the cup and drank. Neither of us pretended that meant the record would still be there tomorrow.
