Page 35 of The Session

Mark was thinking on his feet. The most important thing was maintaining continuity. He knew he could guilt Devon into taking on a replacement foundation full-time outside of his duties as an EMT, at least temporarily. He could get one of Holly’s friends to file the paperwork and create the new organization. Whatever money was left in the athletic foundation could be transferred to it. The hardest part would be that Mark couldn’t have any involvement whatsoever, but it seemed like the only way to keep the program going for the rest of the year.

“I would consider a new organization’s application to use the facilities, on the condition that it’s genuine and not a runaround,” Adler replied.

“I’m one hundred percent sincere. It is about the kids and not me. And I think you feel the same way,” Mark told her.

Adler was watching the kids on the field and hearing their cries of excitement. Despite her prickly exterior, he knew she cared about the children more than anything else. Granted, these weren’t the privileged students of Georgia Academy, but they were still kids, nonetheless.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Thank you. Is it okay if I finish this practice?” Mark asked.

“I don’t think there’s a problem with that.” She saw the emotion in his eyes and quickly turned away, lest it infect her.

“You okay, Coach?” Evan shouted from the sideline.

“Grass allergy,” Mark replied, pulling out his phone and calling Devon.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” Devon asked. “Hopefully better than this piano recital,” he added in a hushed tone.

“Let’s be clear: Byron fucked me over, and I’m paying the price. And I know you feel terrible about it. If you’re looking for a way to make it right, I’ll lay it out for you right now,” Mark explained.

“Yeah?”

“I’m toxic right now, and I need you to take over the athletic foundation. They’re about to kick the kids out of Georgia Academy, and it’ll take us months to find someplace else. I’m going to talk to Rachel Trackman over at the college and get her to create a new nonprofit. You’re the head of it. I have nothing to do with it, but I’ll transfer the money from the athletic foundation to it tomorrow.”

“That’s a lot for me to handle right now . . .” Devon began.

“It sucks, I know. All you have to do is sign your name, then go meet with Adler about the facilities. I’ll handle the scheduling, but I can’t be connected to this any other way.”

Mark knew Devon was thinking it over. He could apply more pressure, but he wanted to give him the chance to make the right choice without further coercion.

“Okay, I’ll do it. But once all this clears up, you’re back in charge.”

Social Proof

Blaise Cutler, Nathan Morris, and Michael Henley were in the Western Conference Room, going over lists of invitees to the upcoming Conclave Conference. The response rate was worse than they’d expected, so they had called an all-hands meeting to figure out how to improve the situation, bouncing ideas back and forth. A group of eight assistants in their early twenties and late teens sat in a row of seats at the opposite end of the conference video wall, taking notes.

Henley wasn’t normally part of these meetings, but given his “outreach” skills, he had a good idea of how to make sure certain key figures attended.

“Makinoro loves the expensive booze. You’ve got to tell him there’s going to be a special tasting, but not with our stuff—bring your own—because he knows that’ll mean some of our friends from Qatar and Korea will bring the really expensive shit. If you get him, he’s going to bring at least ten or twelve of his sales execs,” Henley said.

“We can’t just tell him we’re going to have some fancy bottles of Napoleon or something?” Blaise asked.

Henley laughed at the younger man’s suggestion. “You gotta understand how these guys think. The shit they drink, you ain’t gonna see on Instagram or TikTok. It’s never touched the mouth of an influencer. We’re talking vodka in human skulls and tequila that came out of conquistador shipwrecks and shit like that. I don’t know. The point is, you tell them who’s going to be there, and that’s what’s going to pull them in. It’s about the experience.”

“Sounds like my kind of party,” Blaise remarked.

“No, it’s not. That’s the point. This has got to look like some depraved Russian oligarch thing, not some crypto bro blow-a-bunch-of-cash-with-no-fucking-common-sense thing.”

Blaise nodded and swiveled his chair away from the field operative. “Point taken.”

“Don’t get all butthurt. That crypto bro bullshit, that’s what you do. Those guys are going to love it,” Henley added.

“I’m glad to see Mr. Cutler’s depravity won’t go to complete waste,” Morris commented.

“Everybody plays their part,” Henley agreed.

“Speaking of everybody, isn’t Tru supposed to be here? Conference planning is kind of her thing,” said Morris.