Phil stares at the screen from across the desk, and I can see the color drain from his face.
The one group that was not mentioned on that sheet of paper from Mr. Smith were the boosters. The mark: protected. The school: protected. The program: protected. The prospects: protected.
But not a word about those wealthy, overly invested boosters.
Mr. Smith knew I’d not only see the players talking to the coaches, but I’d also catch men like Roger McBain approaching them on behalf of boosters like Phil Robinson.
“Roger works for you. You tell him the players you want to commit to your alma mater, give him the funds to entice them to do so.”
I came with receipts and he knows it. He’s quiet, toying with a black ballpoint pen in his hands.
“I have just as many pics of you with the athletic director, the university president, and half the coaching staff so it’s not a stretch to assume the school knew what you were doing and even condoned it. Think the NCAA will give them a three or four season bowl ban?” This is my only bluff, because I can’t really pull the school into this, but Phil doesn’t know that. I just need him scared enough that I can tie the school to his activities. The last thing he wants is to be the guy who brought down the whole program.
He finally speaks. “What is it that you want?”
Even though I knew there was zero chance Phil would let the team suffer for something he did, I am relieved he’s crumbling under my threat.
“We want Mitch Cameron gone. You and your little friends will insist he be let go but you’ll be nice about it. You’re to say you don’t agree with Mitch’s vision. You’ll say it’s time for a rebuild. And then you’ll buy out his contract. No reason for the school to eat that six million dollars when it’s all your fault.”
His lips peel up over his teeth like he wants to growl at me. “You are under the impression I have more power than I do.”
“Nope. I believe in you, Phil,” I say brightly. “I believe you can get it done.”
“Why?” he asks. “Why Cameron?”
“Just like you, we want what’s best for the school. We’re all on the same team, Phil.”
He doesn’t like my answer and he doesn’t ask anything else. I gather my things, taking my time getting everything back in my bag. “I’ll expect an official announcement no later than Monday morning.”
And then I’m gone.
* * *
Three days later, I’m back in my apartment, one eye on ESPN and one eye on the continuing footage coming in from the prospects’ homes. There haven’t been any more notes in the mailbox and no more nightly pickups from George. I’m in the waiting game to see if my gamble paid off. It’s not unheard-of for boosters to want a coach gone and to raise the money to buy them out. But that’s usually at the end of a losing season when the coach is doing a poor job.
The breaking news on ESPN takes my attention away from the grainy footage of one of the players’ houses as I focus on the words flashing across the bottom of the screen.
Coach Mitch Cameron Is Out in Florida
And then the details. The university had terminated their contract with him, and money raised by the boosters will cover his buyout. The reason given was that Coach Cameron and the athletic director had a different vision for the future of the program.
That’s it.
Not even a minute later, there is a knock on the door and I almost jump out of my skin. Smoothing my hair back, I take a few deep breaths before I open it. And there’s the familiar face in the brown UPS uniform, a package in his outstretched hand.
“Hey, George!” I take the package and say, “Looks like I passed.”
“Looks like you did.” He smiles and leans against the doorjamb. “How does it feel?”
“Feels pretty good,” I answer.
He lingers a few more seconds, then pushes away. “See you soon.”
And then he’s gone.
I tear open the package the minute the door closes. Inside is a single typed page, a receipt, and a flip phone.
The paper reads:
The balance of your fee has been deposited. Details included. Keep the phone charged and you will be contacted for your next job.
That’s it. I check the deposit receipt and read the note again. I eye the figure on the receipt once more. That’s a lot of money. And it’s mine.
It takes only a few minutes to pack up what I need from the apartment, but I’m not going back to North Carolina. I need to find a spot where I can’t be found, a safe place to land between jobs. I’ve paid attention over the years and know how important it is to save for that inevitable rainy day. Maybe I can tuck away in another small college town like this. One where I can get lost in the sea of students.