CHAPTER 2 #3
“She hated the business around it. She said the sport was beautiful until adults learned how much money could be made from boys who wanted to belong.”
Alex looked down at his taped hand. “She was not wrong.”
“She liked you.”
His head lifted.
“She said you were the only player who returned books to the foundation library.”
“I borrowed one.”
“You kept it for eight months.”
“I read slowly.”
Olivia smiled despite herself. “It was The Count of Monte Cristo.”
“I was busy.”
“You were plotting revenge between practices.”
He remembered Eleanor finding him asleep in the library after an early training session, Ben curled beside him under Alex’s coat. She had brought food without asking questions and arranged a quiet room where Ben could wait during practices. Alex had never known whether Robert approved.
“She helped us,” he said.
“She helped everyone until it became inconvenient for my father.”
The bitterness in Olivia’s voice had years behind it.
“What happened between them?”
“She began asking questions about the foundation. They fought constantly during her last year. After she died, Dad turned every room she used into something else.”
“Erased evidence or avoided grief?”
“Both can be true.”
The phrase would return later, though neither knew it yet.
Mark reentered carrying a clean shirt for Alex and a sealed envelope. “Mara found this beneath the freight elevator.”
Inside was a torn piece of a photograph. It showed the edge of a hospital bed and the sleeve of a Titans development jacket.
On the back, handwritten numbers appeared in two columns.
Olivia recognized one as a foundation account code. “This account was closed six years ago.”
“The year Parker left,” Mark said.
Alex studied the photograph. Something about the sleeve felt familiar, not because every development player wore the same jacket, but because of a repair near the cuff—black thread crossing a silver stripe.
His mother had sewn that repair.
“That is mine,” he said.
Olivia looked at him. “You were in the hospital room.”
“I do not remember.”
Mark’s expression darkened. “Then someone is building the memory for you one piece at a time.”
Alex folded the photograph back into the envelope. “Or building a story they want us to believe.”
Olivia added it to her encrypted list. “We verify before deciding.”
He looked at her. “Together.”
The word came naturally.
Her eyes lingered on his for half a second too long.
Mark pretended to study the door.
They mapped immediate tasks. Olivia would access foundation filings through her consulting credentials.
Alex would speak with former development players without mentioning Parker.
Mark would review coaching records. Ben would be moved to a location he selected, not one Alex imposed, though Alex reserved the right to object loudly.
“Your brother is not an asset,” Olivia said.
“I know.”
“He will need to be included.”
“I know.”
“You sound angry.”
“I dislike growth when other people supervise it.”
That drew a real laugh from her—brief, surprised, and warm enough to make the office feel smaller.
Alex had heard crowds chant his name, teammates roar after overtime goals, and reporters praise him when victory made violence marketable. None of it affected him like Olivia laughing at something he said.
The realization was inconvenient.
Mark switched off the white-noise machine. “We leave separately. Ms. Carter goes with me. Morgan waits five minutes.”
Alex objected before thinking. “No.”
Olivia raised an eyebrow.
He corrected himself. “Would you prefer to leave with Mark?”
“Yes.”
The answer irritated him.
He let it stand.
Before she left, Olivia paused at the door. “Five minutes, Alex.”
“I can count.”
“I have seen your penalty totals.”
Then she was gone.
He remained alone in the office with the envelope and the rules saved on his phone. Five minutes had never felt so long.
At four minutes, he checked the hallway camera through Mark’s secure feed. At four minutes thirty, he stopped himself from calling. At five, he left by the service route and found the parking garage empty except for Mark’s departing car.
Olivia sat in the passenger seat.
She looked back through the rear window.
Their eyes met across the garage.
The arrangement had begun as leverage.
Already, it felt too much like a promise.
Her phone buzzed.
This time the message contained no photograph.
Only an address.
Ben’s address.
And beneath it:
ASK MORGAN WHAT HE DID TO EVAN.
Olivia’s gaze lifted slowly.
“What did you do?”
Before I could answer, my own phone rang.
Luke.
I put it on speaker.
His voice was lower than usual.
“Alex, Ben’s door is open.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
“Where is he?”
“I’m inside.” A pause. “He’s gone.”
Olivia went pale.
Luke continued. “There is blood in the kitchen.”
The room disappeared around me.
I reached for my keys.
Olivia moved with me.
“No,” I said.
Her eyes flashed. “We just made an arrangement.”
“This is Ben.”
“And Parker sent the message to both of us.”
She was already opening the door.
I could have stopped her.
I did not.
It was the first promise I kept.