Chapter 6 - The Press Conference
The Savannah Civic Center was packed with over two hundred sports journalists, camera crews, and fans.
Jace Rourke sat at the center of a long table on stage, flanked by Colin Drake and his training partners. Jace was wearing his official championship track jacket, looking smug despite the negative press.
"Look, the video doesn't show the whole story," Jace bragged into the microphone. "That waiter disrespects me first. If he was a real man, he'd step into the ring with me instead of running to the cops."
Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the back of the auditorium slammed open.
The room fell completely silent.
Mason Hale walked down the center aisle. He was wearing his ordinary black jacket, dark jeans, and boots. His graying hair was neat, his expression unreadable, his hands resting casually in his pockets.
The news cameras swung around instantly, flashes exploding across the dark room.
Jace’s eyes widened in surprise as Mason walked straight up the steps onto the stage, stopping ten feet from the table.
Colin Drake grabbed the microphone, smiling maliciously. "Well, well. Look who decided to show up. Have you come to apologize, Mr. Hale?"
Mason didn't look at Colin. He looked straight at Jace Rourke.
"You wanted a fight, Jace," Mason said, his voice echoing clearly through the auditorium speakers. "You called me a coward. You threatened my livelihood, and you embarrassed my daughter."
Jace stood up, laughing mockingly. "What are you gonna do about it, old man? Call the police again?"
Mason reached into his jacket pocket. The entire stage security team tense up, but Mason simply pulled out a legal document and tossed it onto the table in front of Jace.
"That is an official liability waiver," Mason said coldly. "No referee. No judges. No public broadcast. Three hours from now, at your private training gym. Just you, your team, and me."
Jace stared at the paper, then burst out laughing. "You want to fight me in private? Without cameras to save you?"
"If you win, I'll sign whatever statement your manager wrote," Mason said. "If I win, you donate two hundred thousand dollars to the Savannah Children's Shelter, you leave this city, and you never speak my name again."
The reporters broke into a frenzy, yelling questions at the stage.
Jace grabbed a pen, signed the waiver with a flourish, and slammed it back onto the table. "Three hours, old man. Bring a stretcher."
Mason took the signed paper, turned around, and walked off the stage without saying another word.
May you like
As Mason walked out to the parking lot, his phone vibrated. A text message appeared from an unknown number:
We have your daughter. The gym at 5:00 PM. Come alone, Apex 1.
