Page 90 of Main Event

“Thank you,” I say. “For all of it.”

He stands up. Puts the chair back. The conversation is over because it’s complete—not because something was cut short.

“Get some sleep,” he says. “Tomorrow we finish it.”

ANDI

Bill calls at nine-fifteen.

I’m on the hotel deck with coffee, the Vegas morning already warm, watching the city do what it does—relentless, indifferent, spectacular in its own way. Luke is in the gym. I have my laptop open, the investigation files organized, and a call with Bill’s associate scheduled for ten about the documentation timeline.

When Bill tells me about the bar complaint, I’m quiet for a long moment.

Alleging she’s been providing legal counsel in connection with a matter in which she has a direct personal interest.

I set my coffee down.

It’s not wrong, technically. I’ve been advising on the investigation. I have a direct personal interest in its outcome. The complaint is thin because there are no clients, no fees, no formal engagement—but the allegation can be constructed from what actually happened if someone looks at it from the right angle with the right intent.

Which means Evelyn, or someone connected to her, has been watching closely enough to understand not just what I do but also how I’m licensed to do it.

“She filed both on the same day,” I say.

“Yesterday,” Bill confirms. “Within two hours of each other.”

“Psychology board and bar association simultaneously.” I look at the Vegas skyline. “She’s trying to split our attention across three licensing fronts while Luke is four days from the most important fight of his career.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what she’s doing. If she can divide your attention or divide and conquer the two of you, she can win much faster.”

“Does Luke know?”

“I told him first. He said nothing changes.”

I think about Luke in the gym right now. About Reyes watching him from the corner. About four days of work that a Saturday morning phone call cannot undo unless we let it.

“He’s right,” I say. “Nothing changes.” I close the laptop. “Bill, it’s a thirty-day response window for both complaints?”

“Yes.”

“Then we respond on day twenty-nine. After the fight, after the story breaks, after the evidentiary picture is complete enough that both complaints read as what they are—coordinated harassment from a network under federal scrutiny.” I pick up my coffee. “Right now, there’s a fight in four days.”

Bill is quiet for a moment. Then, with more certainty than I’ve heard from him in a while, he says, “That’s exactly right.”

“Call me Monday,” I say. “After.”

I hang up.

I sit on the deck for a few more minutes. The Vegas morning proceeds. Somewhere across the city, Luke is in a gym being sharp, and I am going to make sure nothing I do in the next four days gives Evelyn Carrington one inch of the ground she’s trying to take.

LUKE

Andi is on the deck when I get back from the gym.

She has the laptop closed, her feet up, and a second cup of coffee, which means she’s been sitting with something for a while. She looks at me when I come through the door, and the furrow of her brow tells me Bill called.

I sit beside her and wait for her to let me in her thoughts.

“Three fronts,” she says.