Chapter 41 The Evidence
Forty-One
The Evidence
I paced back and forth in my dorm room, my wireless earbuds in my ears. I could cover the entire space in five steps. Only five steps. No wonder I felt like a lioness in a cage.
My phone rang, and I quickly turned it over.
Finally. Eric.
I pressed answer. “What did he say?”
“Whoa, Ade.” Eric chuckled. “I literally just got off the phone with him. Give me a second to process.”
I sighed. It was already Wednesday, and I’d been patient now for five days. It had taken that long for a telephone meeting between Plunkett and my brother to come together. But now I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to know if the guy would do it. Would he reinstate Dallas’s eligibility?
“Okay. So, he said some interesting stuff.”
“Like?”
“Apparently, when an athlete is involved in an NCAA rule violation, the school must declare the athlete ineligible. After that, the school usually investigates, gathers facts, and submits a reinstatement request to the NCAA if deemed appropriate. In Dallas’s case, however, no one has instituted an investigation because there has not been any pressure to do so.
If Dad had not been terminated, it would have been him putting the pressure on. The new coach hasn’t done a thing.”
“Omigod. That’s absurd.”
“I know.”
“Anyway, Plunkett says if evidence can be gathered that shows that Dallas is no longer in violation of the rules, then he’d consider requesting the reinstatement.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, if Dallas gave the money back, I suppose he wouldn’t be in violation anymore for having taken money.”
“During Dallas’s testimony, he said that his dad had.”
“Well, then I guess Plunkett would need documents to prove that.”
“Got it.”
“You want me to call Dallas and ask him about it?”
“No. I’ll do it. I’ll go talk to his dad and get what we need.”
“You know his dad?”
“Sort of.”
I ended the call and went to dig through the pocket of the coat I wore the night of the ice cross competition.
I pulled out Dallas’s dad’s business card just as Priya came walking in our door.
His name, Michael Reynolds. His title, car sales consultant.
Below, the dealership’s name, address, and phone number.
“Hey,” she said, going straight to her desk to dump her coat and backpack. “What’s up?”
“Eric talked to Plunkett.” I put the card in my back pocket.
“And…”
“I need to get a bank statement, and to do that, I need to borrow a car. Do you know anyone who has one parked on campus?”
“I do.”
“Great.” I grinned. “Who?”
She opened her eyes wide and raised her eyebrows. “Dallas.”
The smile on my face slipped away. “You know I can’t ask him.”
“Why not?”
“I …I need to fix this whole NCAA ineligibility thing. That’s all. As soon as I can do that, then maybe I’ll feel better about talking to him again.”
She shrugged. “So you’re avoiding him?”
“Sort of. But he hasn’t texted me or come knocking on my door either. The avoidance is mutual.”
“As a reminder”—she narrowed her gaze on me—“you’re the one who told him that things were over, and then when he tried to talk to you after that test, you gave him the silent treatment. He’s giving you space because that’s exactly what you wanted him to do.”
I flinched. She was right.
“And the longer it goes on, the harder it will be to ever not avoid him,” she added.
I cringed some more. The truth did hurt. “Okay, okay. Just a few more days. That’s all I need.”
I took out my phone to text my mom.
Mom, I have a favor to ask.
The next day, I pulled into the parking lot of the car dealership in my mom’s car and let out a deep breath. My stomach was in knots.
I walked through the glass doors. The showroom was large and airy. The interior smelled of rubber and new cars.
“Can I help you?” A lady at the main reception desk with long manicured nails asked me.
I knew that Dallas’s dad was working. I’d called beforehand to make sure. “I’d like to meet with Michael Reynolds.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
She typed something into her computer. “He’s with someone right now, so you can sit and wait for him, or I could pair you up with another of our sales consultants.”
“That’s okay. I’ll wait.” I sat on a chair against the outer glass wall. Next to me was a brochure. I started to page through it.
Fifteen minutes went by. I kept squirming in the chair to get comfortable.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to find another salesperson for you?” the lady asked again.
“No, I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll wait.”
After another fifteen minutes, Dallas’s dad approached me.
I took a deep breath and stood up.
He stuck out his hand. “Hi, my name’s Mike. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
I shook his hand. “No problem. My name is Adriana. Ade for short.”
He squinted. “Do I know you?”
“Yes…well…kind of.” I glanced away. His gaze had become intense. “We met the night of the ice cross race, in the tent. I live in Dallas’s dorm.”
“Oh, right. I thought you looked familiar.” He nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “Are you interested in buying a car?”
“No, actually…I came about something else. Could we talk in private?”
He hesitated, cocking his head, his eyebrows furrowing. “Sure. We can use my office. Follow me.”
In his office, he shut the door and went behind his desk. I sat in the chair across from him. On his desk was a picture of a woman laughing. Dallas’s mom.
My heart squeezed. Poor Dallas’s dad. Poor Dallas.
“I assume that this is about my son. Is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine. I mean…I think he’s fine. I haven’t talked to him lately, but I…well…Did Dallas ever mention anything more about me to you?”
He shook his head, leaning back in his chair and rocking. “Not that I remember.”
“I’m David Bianchini’s daughter.”
He froze. Solid.
Several seconds of silence went by.
He rolled himself up to the desk and laid his elbows on it. “I know Bianchini has a son. I didn’t realize he also had a daughter.”
“Well, he does, and it’s me.”
“They never subpoenaed me to testify, only Dallas. Which was probably for the best. I couldn’t even get myself to go the day he was called to the stand.”
“I don’t blame you, and I’m sorry. Sorry about the whole thing.”
“You’re sorry?” He shook his head. “You had nothing to do with it. I’m the one who is sorry.”
“But it’s not your fault either.”
He slouched. “Sometimes it feels like it was. I definitely wish I could go back in time and do things different.”
“Mr. Reynolds…”
“Call me Mike.”
“Mike, I’m here because I want to make things right. I want to help get Dallas’s NCAA eligibility back.”
“You do?” Mike sat straighter.
“My brother, Eric, spoke with the Minnesota University athletic director, and according to him, if we can give him proof that Dallas is no longer in violation of any NCAA rules, then he could make a request for reinstatement.”
“Dallas had said that the lawyers were going to help him with that.”
“They haven’t, and it is unclear if they will. We want to get the reinstatement process rolling before too much time goes by.”
“That makes sense.” He pushed himself away from the desk. “So what do you need from me? What kind of proof?”
“During his testimony, Dallas said that you gave the money back that you’d received when Dallas signed his letter of intent.
I’m thinking if you could log into your bank account and print a copy of the transaction, or if you wrote a check, a copy of the check that cleared, I think that would suffice. ”
Dallas’s dad spun his chair around and rolled up to his computer at the credenza. “Yeah. I think I’d have all of that. I had a casher’s check made out to the booster club.”
I sat quietly as he used his mouse and his keyboard to get into his bank account.
“Okay, I need to go back in time here. I went to the bank in early summer last year.” He kept scrolling. “Here it is. And look at that. I can print the cleared check and the transaction.”
“Perfect.” My chest was feeling lighter. This was happening. Things were coming together.
The printer on the other side of the office hummed and then printed.
We both stood, and Dallas’s dad fetched the pages.
He looked at them and then handed them over to me. “I think this will do it.”
“Thanks so much, Mr. Reynolds—I mean, Mike. I have a good feeling about this.”
“Me too.” We shook hands. “Thank you for doing this for my son. I’m not sure how the two of you met, but I’m sure he’s going to appreciate what you’re doing.”
“It’s a story, Mr. Reynolds. A long one.”
“I see.”
I put the printout in my bag. “Also, if you wouldn’t mind, could you keep our meeting to yourself for a little while? Maybe a week or so?”
“You mean not tell Dallas?”
“Right.” I fiddled with the strap on my bag. “I just don’t want him to get his hopes up, not until the director actually does the work.”
“Sure. I can do that.”
I left the dealership and checked my phone. Next stop, the university’s athletic complex to hand over the documents.