Chapter 1
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LUKE Something’s wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there, lying just below the surface and waiting to emerge from its cocoon. I feel defeated before the ring of the bell even matters.
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For the last seven weeks, everything’s been… quiet. Jackson and Delia are officially presumed dead.
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Across the gym, my phone sits on the bench where I left it. I checked it three times in the ten minutes before climbing into the ring without realizing I was doing it.
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Here I am, waiting. For what, I don’t know.
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To put a finer point on it, that’s exactly what’s wrong… what’s off. Just the next move—and that’s the problem. I don’t know where the next hit is coming from. Only that it is coming. There’s no way to guard against something like that.
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There’s a dark sedan parked at the curb across the street. The car is probably nothing, but I’m hyper-vigilant now, and I can’t turn it off.
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The second my feet hit the floor, my phone lights up. It’s a news notification. Why Unsanctioned Boxing Matches Are Illegal
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I don’t need to read the article to know what it’s about. It’s a targeted jab at me… about my past fights,
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If they can use my past underground, unsanctioned fights to block my sanctioned rise, they’ll destroy me on the six o’clock news and sleep like a baby later.
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The quiet is officially over, and a new fight—one outside the ring—has just begun.
Chapter 1
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ANDI The phone vibrates on Luke’s nightstand, and I groan slightly in frustration.
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He needs a rest day and his sleep to help his body repair itself after his grueling workouts. Luke still hasn’t stirred, and whoever it is can wait until we’re both ready to rise and shine.
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Before I even open my eyes, my chest constricts with that familiar sensation of tension and anxiety. It’s from pure instinct.
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Luke rolls onto his back and grabs his phone, squinting at the screen as he forces his heavy eyes to focus on the words. I watch his expression change, and my stomach drops.
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Whatever he sees, I already know it’s about to change our world.
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“What is it?” I ask, already sitting up and waiting for the news.
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He doesn’t answer right away. Then he turns the screen toward me, knowing I’ll want to see it for myself, anyway. Georgia State Athletic Commission Announces Review of Luke Woods’ Boxing License
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My phone lights up at the same time. Morgan Youth Outreach—Donation Structure Flagged for Inquiry
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I’m just close enough that denial becomes irrelevant… and I’ve been here before. The language sounds neutral while effectively positioning me as a suspect in everyone’s mind.
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The campaign starts as psychological warfare. If we don’t bend or break under the initial public scrutiny, the collective “they” will tighten the screws and up the ante.
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Jackson and Delia ruined so many people with the same approach when I lived in their house. I was too young to understand what they were doing or recognize the pattern at the time, but their tactics are clear to me now.
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My heart breaks knowing what Luke’s about to face because whoever is pulling the strings finally found a way in.
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If I can’t be hurt directly, the default setting is to annihilate everything I love—Luke, his career, the youth center—anything that results in leverage against me.
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Now that their secrets are exposed, the fallout will be colossal.
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He fights in patterns. He always has. But he’s used to fair fights, referees, and trustworthy scorekeepers. We don’t have that luxury anymore.
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“They escalated it,” he says. “But why?” I ask. “Why now, after all this time?”
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He shakes his head. “The why doesn’t matter yet.” But it does matter.
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The youth center is clean. Every donation has been tracked. Every expense has been documented. I built it that way on purpose. After everything they put me through. After what they did to me the first time. They don’t get a second chance at trying to shut down my center again.
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Luke stops pacing and looks at me. “They’re lining this up.” The way he says it makes my stomach drop.
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“Who is lining what up, Luke? We don’t even know who we’re fighting yet.”
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He doesn’t answer directly. He reaches for his phone again. “I’m calling Brandon.”
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“He’s coming over.”“Okay.”“And he’s bringing Marin.”
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“She’s his top-tier fix-it girl,” he says. “She does crisis management. Governance, compliance, that sort of thing. He said she’s handled stuff bigger than this, and he trusts her to help us navigate this political maze.”
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I nod, not in agreement but in slow deliberation, something inside me shifting as the words register—crisis management, compliance, governance. Language built on structure and order. On control. On the subtle authority to decide what the story becomes, and who gets to tell it. What our story becomes.
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Brandon trusts her. That should make me feel better. It doesn’t.
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Luke walks up to me and cups my face in his hands. “Baby, we’re not going through this alone,” he says.
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“This doesn’t scare me.” I put my hand on his, reaffirming our connection. He studies me for a moment. “It should.”
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“Not if you’re in it with me.”“I’m with you.”
Chapter 6
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I lean against the car beside her. We sit in the parking lot and watch the building the way you watch something you love that's slightly out of reach. "I've been thinking about the donor calls," she says, after a while. "Tell me."
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"The language was too consistent. Three different people, three different conversations, all framing it exactly the same way. It’s not a coincidence. It’s too precise. Someone gave them a script." "Or the same person made three calls and gave each of them the same framing."
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"Yes." She's quiet for a moment. "Someone with access to the donor list. Someone who knew which relationships to pressure first so the others would fall like dominoes." She looks at the building. "The donor list isn't public, Luke."
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The list lives in the center's administrative files. The board has access.
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Marin has been in those meetings. Brandon would have had it as supporting documentation when he first approached her. The coordination feels different now. I don’t say any of it out loud. It’s not proof—but it narrows things more than I’m comfortable with. "What do you want to do?" I ask.
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"Nothing yet." She says it the way she always says it—not passively, but with the specific patience of someone who knows that moving before you have enough information is worse than waiting. "I want to watch the direction. See what moves next."
Notebook for
Split Decision - A.D. Justice
Citation (APA): Justice, A.D. (2026). Split Decision - A.D. Justice [Kindle Android version]. Retrieved from Amazon.com
Chapter 6
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Marin has been in those meetings. Brandon would have had it as supporting documentation when he first approached her. The coordination feels different now. I don’t say any of it out loud. It’s not proof— but it narrows things more than I’m comfortable with. "What do you want to do?" I ask.
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"Nothing yet." She says it the way she always says it— not passively, but with the specific patience of someone who knows that moving before you have enough information is worse than waiting. "I want to watch the direction. See what moves next."
Chapter 8
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The day after New Year's Day, I will be on a plane to Las Vegas, marking the start of our six-month separation. The following day, I'll start my rigorous training schedule, and she'll be here, preparing for her rigorous touring schedule.
Notebook for
Split Decision - A.D. Justice
Citation (APA): Justice, A.D. (2026). Split Decision - A.D. Justice [Kindle Android version]. Retrieved from Amazon.com
Chapter 9
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The center is quiet when I get there.
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I have a key, the alarm code, and a list of things I want to check before five months on the road puts Atlanta three thousand miles behind me.
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I'm almost at my office when I see it.
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The center's main calendar—the large whiteboard mounted on the wall beside the administrative corridor, the one that shows the full program schedule for the coming months—has been changed.
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Not erased. Changed.
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Someone has carefully altered the notation for the center's upcoming federal funding review. The date has been moved three weeks earlier than it actually is, written in a hand that's close enough to Mrs. Alvarez's that you'd have to know her handwriting well to catch the difference.
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The date written there is 9/4/11. September fourth. Fifteen years ago. I stand in the corridor and look at it.
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I know our funding review date. Moving it on the calendar means anyone who relies on that board—program staff, board members, the communications team—would show up unprepared. Would miss the actual deadline. Would give the board reviewing our funding structure a clean, documented reason to question our organizational competence.
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It's not dramatic. It's not a threat anyone could point to in court.
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It's the machine, leaving its fingerprints on my calendar.
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I take a photograph. I call Mrs. Alvarez, who confirms she didn't touch the calendar this week. I correct the date. I call Bill, who tells me to document everything and reminds me that this is what the early phase looks like—small, precise, deniable.
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"The point isn't the calendar," he says. "The point is that they were inside your building, and you didn't know until you walked in."
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reset the alarm with a new code. I call the building's security company and schedule an immediate camera upgrade.
Notebook for
Split Decision - A.D. Justice
Citation (APA): Justice, A.D. (2026). Split Decision - A.D. Justice [Kindle Android version]. Retrieved from Amazon.com
Chapter 9
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"The buses. How many, and what's the configuration? Because I just looked at the tour schedule and did the math on how long we're on the road, and I'm trying to figure out how to pack for that in a way that doesn't require me to rent a storage unit."
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Cami laughs—not at me, just the easy laugh of someone who has done this before. "Okay. So. Six buses total. Crew gets one, which is the rough deal, but that's how it goes. Sound Bar has two. Fireflies has two. You and Katelyn share the sixth."
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"Just you and Katelyn." She gives that a second to sink in fully. "Don't read into it. It's a logistics decision, not a statement. The bus has two bedrooms, two and a half baths, a full kitchen, and a slider. You'll have more space than you think. And you won't be on it all the time—when we're doing long stretches, everyone migrates."
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"She doesn't like the situation," Cami says. "There's a difference.
Notebook for
Split Decision - A.D. Justice
Citation (APA): Justice, A.D. (2026). Split Decision - A.D. Justice [Kindle Android version]. Retrieved from Amazon.com
Chapter 9
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Mike and Drew are next to board, and Cami, Leslie, Jade, and Crystal quickly follow them. We all find a seat in the living room, and Travis turns on the TV. We settle into a comfortable, friendly conversation about how we're bound to get on each other's nerves in such close quarters, and I feel myself relaxing.
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"So," Travis instructs, "if you need time away from everyone, there's no shame in retreating to your bedroom and locking the door. If we're all riding on the same bus and you want quiet, any bedroom on the other buses is fair game, except the crew bus. This is the only way we've been able to keep fights to a minimum. We usually congregate on one bus right after the show, but the drivers make a scheduled stop every few hours to stretch or swap. That's your window to break off and get back to your own room if you need it."
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Everyone agrees to the rules Travis gives the group, except for one. Pick up after yourself. No strangers in living quarters. Don't steal labeled food. Formal meet-and-greets are scheduled by Katelyn, and backstage passes are for family and close friends only. Use practical jokes sparingly. Bow down and kiss Travis's feet.
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The tour has officially started. We're finally on the road. This is happening.
SPLIT DECISION is book two of the NO SAFE CORNER series
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