Chapter 5 - The Other Women
Madison wasn’t the only one.
There were three.
Then five.
Then seven.
Women who had trained with Derek.
Women who had invested.
Women who had been told they were special.
Not every relationship had been romantic.
But the pattern was impossible to ignore.
Charm.
Trust.
Opportunity.
Money.
Rebecca told me not to use the word scam until investigators did.
So I won’t.
What I will say is that Derek had a talent for finding people who wanted to become someone different.
Stronger.
Younger.
More confident.
More alive.
Then he sold them a shortcut.
Claire had been the perfect target.
That truth was painful because it didn’t absolve her.
She still lied.
Still cheated.
Still took our money.
Being manipulated did not erase choices.
It only complicated them.
Claire moved into her sister’s apartment.
I stayed in the house while the divorce proceeded.
For three weeks, I heard almost nothing from her.
Then a letter arrived.
Handwritten.
I nearly threw it away.
Instead, I read it.
She didn’t ask me to forgive her.
That mattered.
She wrote about the first years of our marriage.
About how safe she had felt.
About how she had slowly started confusing safety with stagnation.
She admitted she had blamed me for a restlessness she never tried to understand.
Then came one line I read three times.
You became the man I begged you to become, and then I punished you for becoming him.
I folded the letter.
Put it in a drawer.
And went to physical therapy.
My therapist was a former college wrestler named Ben who possessed no sympathy whatsoever.
“You went viral getting kicked in your surgically repaired knee?”
“Yes.”
“You know I went to school for eight years to help people, right?”
“I appreciate your sacrifice.”
He made me do another set of single-leg exercises.
Marcus stayed nearby for several weeks.
One morning after therapy, he took me to breakfast.
“You going back to HVAC?”
“I never left.”
“Your company okay with all this?”
“My boss asked if I could get the company logo into the next viral fight.”
Marcus laughed.
Then became serious.
“You know people are asking you to teach.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a salesman.”
“You were also an instructor.”
“Different life.”
“Maybe.”
He slid his phone across the table.
A message from a veteran.
Forty-seven years old.
Recently divorced.
Chronic injury.
He had watched the video.
Not because I had thrown Derek.
Because I had walked away after the buzzer.
His message ended:
I forgot strength could look like stopping.
I read it twice.
That sentence stayed with me.
Meanwhile, Derek’s life unraveled.
The gym removed his name from promotional materials.
An investigation began into his business practices.
His lawyer released statements insisting every investment had been voluntary and legitimate.
That was for investigators and courts to decide.
I refused interviews about it.
Then Derek did something unexpected.
He came to see me.
Not at my house.
At my office.
The receptionist called.
“Cole? There’s a Derek Hale here.”
I stared at my computer.
“Send him to conference room two.”
He looked different.
No spray tan.
No gym gear.
Jeans.
Hoodie.
Tired.
He sat across from me.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I sold my share.”
“I heard.”
He placed an envelope on the table.
“What’s that?”
“Certified agreement. Money from the sale goes toward repaying investors. Claire first.”
I didn’t touch it.
“Give it to the lawyers.”
“I did.”
“Then why are you here?”
His jaw tightened.
“To tell you I was wrong.”
That was unexpected.
“About?”
“You.”
I leaned back.
Derek stared at his hands.
“I thought you were pathetic.”
“Appreciate the clarification.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
“Claire talked about you.”
I didn’t want to hear this.
He continued anyway.
“She said you never got angry. Never got jealous. Never fought with her. I thought that meant you didn’t care.”
I looked at him.
“And now?”
“Now I think maybe you had already done enough fighting.”
Silence.
He stood.
I thought that was it.
Then he stopped at the door.
“Madison says I used people.”
I said nothing.
“Maybe I did.”
Still nothing.
He looked back.
“I don’t know what happens next.”
“That makes two of us.”
He nodded.
Then left.
I never became Derek’s friend.
This isn’t that kind of story.
Some bridges should remain burned.
But hatred is another kind of bridge.
It keeps you connected to someone you claim you want behind you.
I decided I didn’t want that either.
Three months after the fight, Claire and I met for mediation.
The house was the final major issue.
Rebecca laid out the options.
Sell.
One spouse buys out the other.
Deferred sale.
Claire stared at the table.
Then she surprised everyone.
“Cole should keep it.”
Her attorney whispered something.
Claire shook her head.
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because you wanted that house.”
“We both did.”
“No,” she said. “You wanted a home.”
Her eyes filled.
“I think I wanted proof I had one.”
The difference hurt.
She agreed to accept a reduced immediate settlement accounting for the missing marital funds, subject to the final legal calculations.
No fight.
No dramatic courtroom scene.
Just signatures.
When mediation ended, Claire stood in the parking lot.
“Cole?”
I stopped.
“I really am sorry.”
For months I had imagined what I would say.
Something devastating.
Something memorable.
Instead, I said the only true thing.
“I know.”
She nodded.
I walked away.
Then my phone rang.
Marcus.
“Turn on the news.”
“What happened?”
“Not news-news. Local sports.”
I opened the link he sent.
Apex Predator had announced a new community program.
Veterans.
First responders.
People recovering from injuries.
Free introductory training.
At the bottom was a sentence.
Program director requested: Cole Mercer.
I stared at it.
Then called Marcus.
“You did this.”
“Nope.”
“Who?”
“The new owner.”
“Why?”
“Apparently millions of people want to learn from the boring HVAC guy.”
I looked down at my knee brace.
For the first time, the idea didn’t sound ridiculous.
It sounded terrifying.
May you like
And maybe that was exactly why I needed to consider it.
End of Chapter 5.
