Split Victory

© 2026 Zoe Taylor

Author's Note:

Y'all I am so unbelievably sorry this was almost late again. I've been neck deep writing on three different (VCERY different!) novels. I can just about remember to post things on Saturday because on Saturdays I'm taking it easy and actually not being AUDHD hyper-focused XD

I was goingto combine both this and the next chapter, Heightened Senses, into one part like I've done in the past, but then I remembered, THAT chapter is the longest damn chapter in the book.

So, I promise it's worth waiting for if you're #TeamTiffberty!
- Zoe

Tori gripped the wheel of her SUV so tightly her knuckles turned a bloodless white. She stared at the traffic light, silently cursing the seconds away, willing it to turn green. When the signal finally flipped, she floored it. The Ford Escape’s engine groaned in protest at the sudden surge as she lurched forward, speeding tickets be damned.

The car swerved loosely into the lot of Lawson, Miller and Associates just as her phone chirped a triumphant, ‘You have arrived!’ She didn't check her hair or the rearview mirror. She hadn't even thought to shed her white lab coat, the hem of it fluttering behind her as she abandoned the car and set off in a dead sprint for the glass doors.

She burst into the lobby, breathless, careening toward the reception desk where a young woman behind it was perfectly composed, her brunette hair pinned into an immaculate bun held in place by a yellow No. 2 pencil. She looked up, offering a demure, professional smile that felt miles away from the fire currently roaring in Tori’s chest.

“Name?” she asked.

“Tori Evanton. I was asked to come by Amanda Miller?”

“Oh, she’s up on floor 4 Doctor Evanton. She’s expecting you so you can just go inside once you’ve reached her office.”

Tori flashed a small, but grateful smile before heading for the elevator. She looked at herself in the mirror, hair frazzled from the windy sprint to the SUV and then again from the car to the office.

For once, she didn’t question why elevators in fancy buildings had them, and used it as a moment to take a breath, reset, and at least try to finger comb her hair into something presentable for this meeting. Something about the way Amanda had reacted when she gave her Morgan’s name didn’t sit right.

Amanda was already waiting for her, standing by the office with the brass pull handle of the glass door in her hand when Tori stepped off the elevator, and though she wasn’t smiling, exactly, she tried to present a welcoming appearance. For Tori, she might as well have been a Fire Chief with an idling engine and a water cannon.

“Hi Doctor Evanton. I’m so sorry for pulling you away from work, but there really is something that I need you to see.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tori said as she approached, offering Amanda her hand. Amanda grasped and shook it. “I was just finishing a surgical consult and took my coffee break. I don’t have another until late in the afternoon so it’s not a problem. What was it you needed me to see?” she asked, adding, “You sounded positively rattled over the phone,” when she realized that there wasn’t, in fact, anyone else nearby to hear them talking.

“I think it would be best if you looked for yourself,” Amanda said softly, bringing Tori into her office. She walked over to the wall with the split portraits, Alex in her cheer uniform on one side and in the other photo, Tiffany holding up her TKD division championship trophy, dressed in her white dobok with black trim.

Tori blinked. She blinked again,. “Why do you have a photo of Morgan on your wall?” she asked finally, not quite noticing that Tiffani’s hair wasn’t actually short in the photo, it was French braided.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Amanda said nervously. “That’s actually my daughter, Tiffani. My... adopted daughter. She goes by Tiffani Sterling on the competitive circuit, as a nod to her biological parents and to give her a stage name.”

Tori went rigid on hearing the name Sterling. Amanda offered Tori her hand, guiding her gently over to one of the chairs in front of the desk before sitting across from her, not in the chair behind the desk, but the one beside her.

“Sterling,” was all Tori could manage to croak out. Amanda nodded solemnly.

“Now you understand why I asked you over. The matter with Coach Bullock is still important, mind you, but this,” she paused.

“This is life altering,” Tori whispered. “Do... Do you know how this could even have happened?” she asked.

“No,” Amanda said softly, “But I intend to find out. When Jennifer and I - Jennifer is my late wife, by the way,” Amanda added, “When we adopted Tiffani we were told that she was an only child. This is the 21st century. Stupid mistakes like that aren’t supposed to happen.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Amanda,” Tori said as she slowly leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and pressed her hands to her face for a moment in an attempt at a second mental reset, as the gravity of the situation washed over her. “This doesn’t make any sense. I was told there was only Morgan when we adopted her. Oh,” she added, “I’m so sorry for your loss by the way.”

“Thank you,” Amanda said, giving her a wry smile. “She was very sick, so we knew for awhile. The girls had a chance to say goodbye at least.”

“When John and I adopted Morgan,” Tori said, “Those were happier times. When the anger issues started to develop though, John decided he’d had enough. The bastard ran off with his 20 year old secretary.” She smirked to herself, remembering the perky girl at the reception desk downstairs.

“Oh, Tori,” Amanda said, sympathetically squeezing her hand out of reflex. “I’m so sorry.”

“At least the child support helps. I’m just glad the state didn’t try and take the girls away from me for never remarrying,” she shrugged softly. “But yeah. Anything you need from my end, just let me know. I have privileged access to hospital records, and you better believe I’m going to be using it.”

“I might be able to gain access to Morgan and Tiffani’s adoption records as part of the discrimination case, however... I wanted to get your written permission to do so first because it’s not normally a step that I take due to, well, it’s just not part of normal precedent.”

“But these aren’t ordinary times,” Tori said, shaking her head. “And worse yet, the tournament’s a week and a half away. What are we going to tell the girls? Morgan’s finally happier than I’ve seen her since before John left. She’s so focused on defending her seed as the #1 contender.”

“And if Tiffani finds out that the #1 seed is her twin sister, it might rattle her confidence even more than it’s already been,” Amanda sighed. “I wish I knew what the right answer was. And if we don’t tell them, and, by some miracle Tiffani wins the girls’ division championship, they’re going to meet anyway.”

“Oh,” Tori said, “It’s worse than that.”

Amanda looked up in surprise. “Worse? How?”

Tori swallowed. “NAMASA is an open tournament, remember?”

Amanda stared at her for a moment before recognition dawned. “The winner of each gendered division goes on to the night of champions. I completely forgot,” Amanda groaned.

“Yep,” Tori said, but then cracked a smile. “Hey, maybe you can use that in your legal defense? The coach’s claim is that boys don’t hit girls or whatever.”

“Bullshit,” Amanda chimed in and then coughed. “Please pardon my French.”

“Exactly,” Tori said, starting to smile a little. “That line doesn’t work in NAMASA where the literal goal is for a boy and a girl in each age group to compete. It isn’t full contact. Full contact is how you get disqualified.”

Amanda nodded as she stood. She gave Tori’s hand another squeeze “You know, even if our daughters are technically rivals, you and I make a great team?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Tori said, smiling as she stood. Amanda paused, taking a business card, on which she scrawled her private number, and slid it over to Tori.

“Please call me anytime, day or night, but especially if you find anything in the hospital archives. I’ll do the same once I know something on my end as well, either about the discrimination case, or how our girls got separated.”

“I will,” Tori said as she took the card. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances Amanda, but I’m glad we did regardless. I won’t tell Morgan anything for now. If she asks, though, that’s another story.”

Amanda looked up from her screen and nodded solemnly. “I’ve never held back anything from Tiffani, and I’m not going to start now, but, I agree, it’s probably best, for now, if we let them focus on the tournament, and then deal with the fallout when they meet, whether that’s in the backstage area, or on the mat.” She stood up from her desk again, walking Tori to the elevator.

As Amanda watched the elevator doors close, she hesitated, one, two, three heart beats. Her lips pursed and she sucked in a breath before turning, not to return to her glass office, but to approach a heavy, highly polished oak door across the way. She rapped gently, and stuck her head inside.

A young woman in her mid 20s was seated behind a smaller desk, in a smaller office, and surrounded by paperwork. Her fiery auburn hair, wild and curly, but pinned back in a tight ponytail behind her head, struck a sharp contrast to her plain, black business skirt suit and the soft, electric blue of her blouse. On her wall, the only real, humanizing touch was a framed photo of her in a Soaring Dragon Dojo windbreaker and cap, posing with a dozen or so other similarly dressed people, one or two wearing Kenpo EPAK branded jackets or karati gi. Even in the group photo, she was umnmistakable though.

She raised her big, green eyes to meet Amanda’s, and she smiled. “Yeah boss?” she asked casually.

“Bridget, I’ve got a big ‘I owe you one’. Are you busy?”

“No ma’am,” Bridget answered. “I just finished the final pass on the NAMASA Soaring Dragon Temple contract filings, and I’m only on my second cup of coffee. How can I help?” she asked.

“I need a deep dive on a Sterling estate. Births, deaths, adoptions,, from 14 years ago. Cross-reference against the name John Roth or possible aliases like Johnathan or J.”

Bridget’s jovial, over caffeinated expression shifted on a dime. Hearing the name ‘Sterling’ and the ‘14 years ago’ was all she needed to know the stakes. “I assume that this is strictly a dead tree format affair?” she asked. Amanda nodded curtly.

“Yes, please. I can’t afford a digital footprint - not yet anyway.”