THIRTY #2
"Rick Fox is slick, but not enough." his voice is rough and flat, methodical, only giving what's necessary.
"I had to dig, but found out his birth name is Maxwell Richard Foxworth III.
Grew much like you. Private School. Rich daddy.
Cut him off after he was expelled from Yale Law.
He was the President of his fraternity. During one of the hazing rituals, he set one of the pledges on fire; the kid had third-degree burns over his body. "
"Jesus Christ," I hiss, Emerald's eyes wide as she tucks Merry under her chin like Rick's name alone is harmful.
Maybe it is.
"Unfortunately, the little prick is smart. Managed some short-term minor league baseball players, but hit big with hockey about twenty years ago. Was managing about ten players, and the greedy fuck got involved with underground sports gambling through Kevin Donnelly."
"That's the guy who owns O'Malleys. The guy who—" Emerald cuts herself off. I already know where her head is going. The guy who took the bet that got her assaulted. I wrap my arm around her and pull her closer.
God. It's all fucking connected.
"Donnelly got caught and banned, but Fox offered to become his reach.
Gave Donnelly plausible deniability and distance while still being able to grease the refs and players for money.
His clients who didn't want to shave points dropped him, so he changed tactics.
Proposed himself as the magic showman dedicated to a single athlete," Wyatt's voice is dry when he asks, "Sound familiar? "
"Fuck me," I mutter, the shame welling up inside of me until I feel a scratchiness—like sandpaper—on my face. Turning, I see Merry licking my cheek, Emerald holding him up so he can do so. It makes me smile briefly, before Wyatt starts talking again.
"Jace Ward," Wyatt sounds mildly annoyed at the name. "His shit is locked down tight. Off the grid. I don't have much beyond the fact that he's in Superior, Wisconsin. Besides the arrest records and the dropped charges, there isn't much."
Superior, Wisconsin.
Jace might have answers.
"I'm still trying to access Rick's cloud storage. As I said, he's smart and careful. It's all encrypted. Whatever's in there, he doesn't want seen by anyone. I'll let you know when it's unlocked."
"Thanks, Wyatt," I say, before awkwardly stumbling through, "My—uh—father said—"
"Already paid up front," he cuts me off, his voice cutting through mine with ease. "We're good. I'll be in touch."
The line goes dead.
It's silent for a few moments as Emerald and I process what we've just been told.
Rick was tight-lipped about his personal life, which I respected.
I didn't want people digging into me either.
Now I know there was a reason for that—to portray a certain image to the world, while working behind the curtain.
"Demar," Emerald says, gently nudging me. "Maybe DeMar knows more. He was his captain. We can—I don't know—talk to him, ask him about Rick. Maybe he knows something. Maybe Rick held things closer to his chest with you than with him."
"That's a good idea," I say, once again reminded why I should be letting Emerald into these thoughts.
My finger immediately scrolls to my former teammate's contact. I haven't spoken to him in a while, and none of the team has reached out beyond perfunctory good luck, and we'll miss you texts. I never really developed a relationship with them beyond teammates anyway.
Not like I did in Minnesota. Frank, his wife, and those teammates have been reaching out every now and again to ask if we need anything and to let us know they're thinking of us.
DeMar picks up on the second ring.
"Hayden!" he sounds a little out of breath—working out probably. "How are you? How's Emerald? You're back home?"
"Yeah, we're settling in. Em's doing better," I share a smile with Emerald, before I clear my throat. "Listen, I need your help."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you need, man. You know we're always there for you guys," DeMar says easily.
My eyes close in gratitude. He and his wife were two shining beacons in Boston. Probably the only things we'll actually miss—well, them and Aisha.
"I need Jace Ward's phone number. Do you still have it?"
Silence stretches on for a long time, and for a moment, I worry we got disconnected.
"DeMar?" I prod.
"Why do you want to speak to Jace?" his voice surprises me. It's quiet and guarded .
"It's about the agent we both used."
"Rick."
"Yes."
DeMar scoffs, "I always had a bad feeling about Rick.
Jace was... he was... not well after we lost. He hadn't been well for a while, not since his wife's—you know what, it's not my business to tell.
But you seemed fine—stressed, yeah, but we all were with the coach riding our asses. I thought I was being paranoid."
"No, you were seeing things Emerald saw, too. I refused to," I admit shamefully, Emerald giving me a sympathetic look, but she doesn't say anything, knowing the truth behind the words. "I just want to talk to Jace. See what his experience with Rick was like."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
DeMar is quiet again before he sighs. "He's... he hasn't spoken to anyone since he was released. I don't know how responsive he will be. I've tried to text him, and the texts go through and say they're read, but he never answers."
Disappointment swells before DeMar continues, "Maybe he'll answer you, though. I'll text you his contact."
My eyes close as I sigh in relief. "Thank you, DeMar."
"Hey," he says softly, sounding hopeful. "You think you could tell him Denise and I are thinking about him and Samantha, and to reach out if he needs... I don't know. Anything."
"I will."
"I'll send you the number. Take care of your lady."
"You too," I nod, and we hang up.
Seconds later, Jace Ward's contact information comes through a text message .
My thumb hovers over the phone icon. I don't know what Jace is going to say, I don't know if Rick orchestrated the Vegas incident, or if this man really did fuck up his entire life, but I won't know until I call him. I don't know why I'm hesitating either.
Shame? Fear? Guilt?
Emerald leans further into me, laying her head on my shoulder. She presses my thumb down with her finger and then puts the call on speaker.
The phone rings.
And rings.
Until a growling voice answers.
"Who the fuck is this?"