He hands me a manila envelope. “Got something for you tonight. Thought I’d save you a trip to the mailbox since I have to come by here anyway. Just don’t rat me out.”
My relief is evident. “Finally. And don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” I’m ready to tear into it but I notice George is lingering in the hall. “Is there something else?”
He nods once, then says in a near whisper, “Since this is your first job where you’re dealing directly with him, if it feels like a test, it is.”
I stare at him with wide eyes, silently begging for him to tell me more. But with those cryptic words, he’s gone.
I can’t rip open the envelope fast enough.
Cameron needs to be removed from his position without negative outcome financially or publicly to him, the university, or the program or any future prospects. No scandal.
I had a lot of theories of what I’d be asked to do but this didn’t make the top ten. And while the desired outcome and parameters are very clear, these instructions still feel very vague.
If it feels like a test, it is.
Well, here we go.
* * *
It took a few days for me to walk through my options and weigh the potential for success against the risks of breaking one of the rules Mr. Smith laid down.
I can’t load some underage porn on Mitch’s computer and blackmail him into quitting because, for one, there’s no guarantee that won’t turn into some scandal, and two, if he quits, he forfeits the rest of what’s left in his contract—six million dollars—and that would hurt him financially.
Blackmail on his wife leads to the same results and blackmail on any member of the college opens them up to scandal and also hurts them financially, since they’d have to buy out his contract.
I feel like I’m boxed in.
I feel like I’m going to fail his test.
The only thing to do is start back at the beginning. He wouldn’t set me up to completely fail, so I’m missing something. He wants me to prove myself, so there is a way to get this job done—I just need to find it.
* * *
The Ford dealership is shiny and new; the main room is a big open space with lots of glass and chrome. Salesmen circle the front doors like sharks, but I push my way through without breaking my stride or making eye contact with a single one of them.
There’s a young blonde at the welcome desk who eyes me up and down quickly, then pastes a gigantic smile on her face.
“Welcome to Southern Ford! How can I help you?”
“I need to speak with Phil Robinson.”
“I’m not sure he’s available . . .”
“Give him this.” I drop a white envelope on the counter in front of her. Phil owns five Ford dealerships that are scattered throughout central Florida, but he keeps his main office in this location.
It only takes a moment for the receptionist to return and lead me to him. Phil meets us at the door. His eyes track me from the tips of my shoes to the top of my head. I’m feeding him the details I want him to have, to remember. My clothes are nice but not too nice. My jacket looks like it was fitted especially for me but it’s obvious my skirt is off the rack. My jewelry is minimal but tasteful. My hair is pulled back and the makeup heavier than what I normally wear. I’m thirty, easily.
My hand is out as I approach him, and he hesitates a second or two before caving.
“Mr. Robinson, thank you for seeing me,” I say as we shake hands.
He motions me inside his office and I do a quick survey of the room. He’s a super fan and one of the college’s biggest boosters. There are framed jerseys and game balls. Pictures with players and coaches, including Mitch Cameron. Phil sinks into his chair behind his desk while gesturing me to take the one across from him.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asks. He’s opened the envelope and pulled out the picture of stacks of cash sitting on the tailgate of a Ford truck with a sticker of his dealership’s logo on the back window. There is no room for small talk.
“I’m here about Roger McBain.”
Phil’s face shows confusion, but there’s red creeping up under his starched white collar. “I don’t know anyone named Roger McBain.”
My forehead crinkles as if I’m really taking him for his word and am somewhat confused, then I pull out more pictures. Pictures that show Phil and Roger together. “Huh, you two look pretty chummy here.” Then I put my iPad on the desk so it faces him. I press play on the video that is waiting on the screen. It’s a recording of a dinner with Phil, Roger, and a handful of other megadonors. Their discussion comes to life where they detail which high school prospects they want Roger to approach and how much money they will offer to each one. Phil even offers to throw in a couple of cars if necessary. “Anything to keep them from going to Florida State,” he says. There is also some bragging about how successful they were last year in scoring some of the best recruits. I end the video right after Phil says, “Giving away that F-250 was worth those twelve touchdowns.”