The feed comes up without introduction.

A long conference table sits under harsh, even lighting, the room sterile in a way ICW never is. At the far end, directly across from the camera, Cito Conarri sits with his hands folded, posture straight, expression unreadable. On one side of the table sit Eric Dane Sr. and Jacoby Jacobs, the latter shifting in his chair before setting his phone face-down with visible reluctance. Opposite them, Todderick Davenport Jr. sits centered, flanked by Marion Holt and Lawrence Pike.

No one speaks at first. The silence lingers just long enough to feel deliberate.

Todderick Davenport Jr.:
“Mr. Jacobs. Can you explain the situation that occurred following the tag team title match on March 1st?”

Jacobs leans forward slightly, elbows brushing the table as he settles into the question.

Jacoby Jacobs:
“I mean… I walked into a parking lot full of racist-ass rednecks. That’s the situation.”

A flicker crosses Holt’s face, gone almost as quickly as it appears. Jacobs continues, more certain now that he’s found his footing.

Jacoby Jacobs:
“And yeah, I said what I said after. I got a right to call that out.”

TDJr nods once, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Todderick Davenport Jr.:
“Can you tell us specifically what was said to you?”

Jacobs pauses. Not defiant—just searching.

Jacoby Jacobs:
“…I mean, you could feel it. Like, come on. You know that environment ain’t safe for Black men.”

Holt leans forward, cutting cleanly across the moment.

Marion Holt:
“We reviewed the footage. No one in that crowd spoke directly to you while you were on camera.”

A beat.

Marion Holt:
“Are you asserting that someone spoke to you off camera?”

Jacobs blinks, caught off guard by the precision of the question.

Jacoby Jacobs:
“Well—no, but—”

Marion Holt:
“So you weren’t harassed.”

The word lands heavier than expected. Jacobs straightens, irritation beginning to show.

Jacoby Jacobs:
“That’s not what I’m saying.”

Pike speaks for the first time, voice even, measured.

Lawrence Pike:
“Mr. Holt, verbal interaction isn’t the only way a situation can be perceived as threatening.”

Holt says nothing, but he stops pushing. Pike turns his attention fully to Jacobs.

Lawrence Pike:
“Mr. Jacobs—body language, proximity, tone. Those can all contribute to someone feeling unsafe. Is that what you’re describing?”

Relief flashes across Jacobs’ face as he nods quickly.

Jacoby Jacobs:
“I’m sayin’, bro. Exactly.”

For a moment, he thinks he’s been understood.

TDJr does not acknowledge the shift.

Todderick Davenport Jr.:
“But no one verbally assaulted you.”

It isn’t phrased as a question. Jacobs hesitates, the room pressing in around him again.

Jacoby Jacobs:
“…No.”

TDJr nods once, as if confirming a detail already expected.

He turns slightly toward Dane.

Todderick Davenport Jr.:
“Mr. Dane—did Mr. Jacobs speak to you before or after the in-ring promo in which he accused the audience of racism?”

Dane doesn’t look at Jacobs when he answers.

Eric Dane Sr.:
“No.”

Flat. Final. Nothing added.

Jacobs glances sideways at him, brief and searching, but Dane offers nothing more.

TDJr folds his hands on the table.

Todderick Davenport Jr.:
“I believe that covers the matter—unless my colleagues have anything further.”

Holt leans back, expression unchanged. Pike remains still, his attention fixed—not on Jacobs’ words now, but on Jacobs himself.

Cito finally speaks, voice calm—warmer than the rest of the room, but still measured.

Cito Conarri:
“Mr. Jacobs… I think what you’re describing is a situation where nothing happened, but it still didn’t feel right to you.”

Jacobs looks up at that—this lands better.

Jacoby Jacobs:
“Yeah.”

Cito nods once, acknowledging it without validating the conclusion.

Cito Conarri:
“And those environments can feel that way sometimes. Especially when you don’t know the people, and you don’t know how things might turn.”

A small pause—he lets that breathe.

Cito Conarri:
“But there’s a difference between staying aware of that possibility of something happening… and telling the world something already did.”

Jacobs’ expression tightens—not defensive yet, but not comfortable either.

Jacoby Jacobs:
“I wasn’t sayin’ it did, though.”

Cito gives a slight, understanding tilt of his head.

Cito Conarri:
“I understand that’s how you meant it.”

Another beat.

Cito Conarri:
“But that’s not how it comes across once it leaves the room.”

That’s as far as he goes. No lecture. No ruling.

Silence settles again.

TDJr glances down briefly, then back up.

Todderick Davenport Jr.:
“Thank you, Mr. Jacobs.”