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Through the noise of his rant, there’s one thing that sticks out:One call to the press and they come running.
“You called the press.” Hindsight is as clear as a fucking bell. I had spoken to Mackie on Friday, rushing him off the phone, telling him I hadto be at the Lemon Lounge. Never did it occur to me that the bastard would stab me in the back, all in some self-serving exploit to get me back into the spotlight.
“It’s how this business works, Mick,” he says without apology.
“And the community center, did you call them there too?”
“What are you getting so pissed about?”
“You knew I was coaching my nephew’s team and didn’t want publicity.”
“That’s my job. I did it for you.”
Anger twists in my chest. That incident with O’Malley at the community center going viral had brought the Franklins right to Dwayde and my family. The custody case is stone cold proof that my fame can hurt the people I love.
“You didn’t do any of that for me.” I push the bitter words through my clenched teeth. “You did it for yourself. For the money. But it’s over.”
“Mick…Jesus…listen to me, man—”
“Fuck you. I’m done listening.”
“Mick!”
Fuming, I hang up and call my lawyer. Nolan Taylor confirms what I already expected, that it’s going to cost me to break the contract early. “Do it,” I tell him. Between an absurd former eight-digit salary, major endorsements, and smart investments, I have enough to last me several lifetimes. Enough for what matters: Papa’s Kids, my family, and my future with Dee. Enough to keep Malcolm Peters away from the people I care about. That alone is worth every drop of blood and sweat I left on the courts.
Nolan goes over the terms and promises to have a draft of the letter for my review by 4:00.
I slide on my shadesand cap and make the short commute to Chicago. Though it’s early afternoon, downtown still bustles with energy. Cars and people surge through the busy streets, while tall glass office towers loom above as if watching the activity below.
I park underground, and lowering my brim, catch the empty elevator to the twenty-third floor. The car stops several times during the ride with people getting on and off. A few furtive glances are cast in my direction. Some whispers. People are curious about celebrities. Enamored by the sheen of fame that disguises how truly human we are.
Leaning against the gold railing hand support, I keep my shaded eyes trained on the mounted TV screen that loops through the stock numbers, weather, and news until I’m alone again. It’s not basketball I resent. Only the reason I’d chosen it.
I exit the car on the last stop and walk down the hall to Pivotal Consulting. The friendly receptionist shows me to the boardroom where Nadia Singh is waiting. I remove my cap and shades and set them down on the credenza.
“Hello, Mick. It’s good to see you.” With her professional demeanor and confident efficiency, Nadia wears her role of Project Director with ease.
“Good to see you too.” We shake hands.
“Coffee?” she asks. “Just black as I recall.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“No, thank you for choosing Pivotal again. Papa’s Kids is a fabulous program. We’re so pleased to be a part of the expansion project.”
“Glad to hear it.” I take the cup she offers and wait until she sits before lowering onto the chair set up next to her. “You did excellent work with the first location. This one’s larger and more complex, but I’m expecting the same.”
“We won’t let you down,” she assures and starts her PowerPoint presentation.
For the next hour, we go through the initial stages of the plan that Nadia and her project team have prepared to manage the delivery of my vision. With one hundred and nine acres of land, I want a multiple residence community that will provide transitional shelter and support services to boys and girls currently homeless or living in some other untenable situation.
After Cayo died, I quit the NBA and threw myself into creating a legacy for him. I thought if I could help even one kid rise above their dire circumstances—the way Victor and Isabelle were doing for Dwayde, and the way the Torreses had done for me—I would have accomplished something meaningful. Honorable. Something that would make me deserving of all Cayo and Rita had given to me.
“Any other questions?” Nadia asks when she gets to the end.
“No. You were very thorough,” I say, appreciating her attention to detail and the commitment to meet my aggressive timelines.
“Great.” She beams. “If we’re going to break ground before the winter, we need a design ASAP. I can email you the profiles of several architects that we highly recommend for this assignment.”
