But none of that mattered to her now.
The woman sitting beside the patrol car had been her closest friend since childhood.
Naomi had stood beside her through years of exhausting training, serious injuries, and defeats that almost ended her fighting career.
And Amanda had promised Naomi's husband that she would always look after his family.
Now Naomi was trembling beside a police cruiser, frightened for her unborn child.
Amanda slowly turned toward Sergeant Mercer.
"Take your hands off her property. Right now."
Her voice wasn't loud.
But something in her expression made the officer pause.
He looked up from the orange evidence bag.
"Ma'am, stay out of police business."
Amanda took one measured step closer.
Her burgundy boots struck the pavement.
"She's eight months pregnant. Why is she sitting on the ground?"
Mercer scoffed.
"She refused to cooperate."
Amanda looked toward Naomi.
Then at Jordan.
The younger officer met her eyes.
For a moment, his expression seemed to carry a silent warning.
Amanda understood.
She took out her phone.
And as she reached for her attorney's number, she noticed something on the orange evidence bag that made her stop.
It wasn't the word EVIDENCE.
It wasn't Naomi's prescription label.
It was a small handwritten number beneath the barcode.
Amanda recognized it.
She had seen that number before.
Seven weeks earlier.
In a confidential packet of documents sent to her foundation by a frightened former police employee.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then she looked toward Sergeant Mercer.
For the first time, she understood that the officer might not be making an ordinary mistake.
He might be repeating something he had done to other people.
And the next twenty minutes would uncover a reason he'd been so desperate to stop Naomi from speaking to the pharmacist.
To understand why Amanda Cole recognized that number, you have to go back eleven years, when she and Naomi were still struggling to build lives neither had inherited the money to afford.
They met in a small neighborhood recreation center in Richmond, Virginia.
Naomi was nineteen and studying to become a speech-language specialist. She worked part-time helping children with reading difficulties and spent most evenings surrounded by textbooks.
Amanda was twenty-seven, already training seriously in mixed martial arts but nowhere near the financial security or international recognition she'd eventually achieve.