I’ve been patient. Mostly.This is the long game, I remind myself daily.
Minnesota wins by four. The scouts froth at the mouth over Tully, and I think,Too late. He’s already mine.
Whatever else I’ve agreed to in the dark recesses of my mind, my belief in Tully Whitman as a hockey player is completely clean. He is the most talented kid I’ve ever watched, and I am going to make a significant amount of money from that talent.
I’m at the tunnel when he comes out. He sees me and he smiles, believing I am one of the good ones. I don’t feel bad that I’ve done some shady things in this career now, because Idobelieve in him, and Iwillwork hard for him.
“Hey,” he says. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah?”
He nods. “I know it’s not gonna be easy, being a free agent. I’m hearing from some of my friends who were drafted, and I don’t regret going this route, but…I’m going to need someone really good in my corner. Someone who knows the market and knows how to position me and who I actually trust.” He looks at me. “You’ve shown up when you didn’t have to. You never pushed.”
I think about Bruce telling me not to push.
“That’s just how I operate,” I say.
The lies fall out of my mouth easier than they did a few years ago.
“I know,” Tully says. “That’s why I want you. When I’m done with school, you’re my agent. If you still want to be by then.”
I look at this kid. He’s twenty now. Six foot three. He’s matured a lot in the past two years I’ve been advising him. Being a free agent means the negotiating leverage is entirely in the relationships and the pitch, which means he needs someone excellent. He knows that, and he’s chosen me.
I feel a swell of pride and extend my hand.
The money this kid is going to make will be extraordinary.
The money I am going to make from this kid will be extraordinary.
“Consider me your agent,” I say. “Absolutely…when the time comes.” I wink.
He shakes my hand.
“I know you’ll do right by me,” he says.
“That’s what I’m here for,” I say.
Three weeks later, Bruce Granger takes me to dinner. We talk about Tully like we always do.
“Good,” Bruce says. “We knew he’d choose you, but it’s good to have that verbal commitment. When he graduates and you start working together in earnest, I’m going to need more from you than intelligence reports.”
I look at him. “More what?”
He picks up his wine. “I need you to manage his career in a specific direction,” he says. “Contract negotiations. Endorsement deals. The decisions that shape a career over time. I need those decisions to serve a particular outcome.”
“What do you mean?” I say.
He looks at me. “I need Everett Whitman’s son to understand,” he says, “that the world is not as hospitable as his father has led him to believe.”
I go still. “What do you mean?”
“Old family,” Bruce says. “Old money. Old confidence.” He takes a drink. “People like that move through the world like the rules are suggestions. Like consequences are for other people.”
Something flashes across his face just enough that I know this is not business at all. This is something more personal and considerably more dangerous than I knew.
“I find that confidence worth addressing,” he adds.
“By mismanaging his son’s career.”
