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I meet his gaze squarely, the intensity of my resolve evident in my expression. "Dariel Grant."
The name hangs in the air for a moment, the weight of the revelation sinking in. Coach Jackson's eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and realization dawning on his face. "Dariel Grant? But why would he—"
"I know it's hard to believe," I interrupt, "but I've been gathering evidence, and I have proof of his involvement. He's been orchestrating these events to create chaos, to weaken me,my relationship with Leslie, and therefore weaken the team to create a need for his return."
Keith Langley leans forward, his stern expression now mixed with concern. "Evidence, Wayne? What kind of evidence are you talking about?"
I reach into my bag and pull out a folder, placing it on the table and sliding it towards them. "I hired a private investigator to figure out who sent the messages to Leslie and me. The investigation led to Moey Dash, and Moey Dash led us to Dariel Grant. These are transcripts of her messages, tapped phone calls, and surveillance footage of her interactions with Dariel. It all leads back to Dariel."
Coach and Keith exchange glances before opening the folder and poring over the contents. As they read, the tension in the room grows palpable. I watch their expressions change from skepticism to realization, disbelief to anger.
"Wayne, this is quite a revelation," Keith says, his voice firm. "If what you're presenting here is true, we can't ignore it. We need to confront Dariel."
Coach Jackson nods in agreement, his jaw set in determination. "Agreed. It’s only fair to get both sides of the story. We'll call Dariel in and address this matter immediately. Is that okay with you?"
I feel mixed emotions—anger, betrayal, and a burning desire to protect what's mine. Leslie's words echo in my mind again, reminding me that we have faced challenges before and have always come out stronger.
I nod. “Actually, it would be good if I could be here when he comes so we can discuss it man to man.”
“As long as you understand, there will be no physical confrontation. That sounds fair to me,” Keith says, returning his attention to the documents I handed him earlier.
Coach nods in agreement, then dials some numbers on his phone and speaks with Dariel. We wait in the office, discussing the situation until Keith and Coach fully understand everything that’s going on from my perspective.
As the door to the meeting room opens an hour later, Dariel Grant struts in, looking confident and untouchable. An air of tension hangs heavy in the room. This is a defining moment, one that will reveal the true nature of a former teammate and set the course for the future of our team and my relationship with Leslie.
All I can think as he takes the empty seat beside me is,I can’t believe I once looked up to this man.
Chapter Thirty Nine
Let’s Make Some Memories
Dariel Grant is a six-foot-five, green-eyed African American once considered the most handsome man of the year in the Washington Saints Journal. Today, he sits feet away from me, his confidence barely masking the unease in his eyes. Though still bulky, it’s apparent he has lost some weight, and there is something off about him.
Coach Marshall Jackson and Keith Langley study Dariel from the opposite side of the desk, their expressions a mix of sternness and disbelief. The weight of the evidence I presented has brought us to this moment that will lay bare Dariel’s motives and actions.
“I came as quickly as possible. What’s the reason for this meeting?” Dariel asks, his curious gaze traveling around the room, landing on each man present before fixing on Coach.
Coach Jackson leans forward, his gaze fixed on Dariel. “Dariel, we’ve heard Wayne’s side of the story, and he has shown us the evidence his private investigator collected.”
“A private investigator?” Dariel’s green eyes quickly dart to the right before he returns them back to Coach Jackson.
“Yes. Because of some disturbing events, he has had to hire a private investigator to sort things out. It has become clear that you’ve been involved in orchestrating events to disrupt both the team and Wayne’s personal life,” Coach explains.
Dariel’s jaw tightens, his defiance warring with the growing realization that his actions are exposed. He shifts in his seat, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. “Look, Coach, I don’t know what Wayne’s been feeding you, but I have orchestrated nothing to disrupt the team or his personal life.”With the latter declaration, he glares at me as if I have done something to him and not the other way around.
Keith’s voice is icy and calculated as he speaks. “We’ve reviewed the evidence, Dariel. Messages, calls, surveillance—it all points to your involvement in some sketchy things like threatening Wayne to accept trade offers. Then, there is your alliance with Moey Dash, who has been known to harass Wayne and his fiancee. We can’t tolerate that kind of behavior.”
Dariel’s green eyes dart between me and the two men on the opposite side of the desk, anger and desperation clouding his features. “I ain’t trying to undermine anyone. Yeah, I might have been upset about losing my position, but I ain’t stooping to these levels,” he barks, his Southern dialect coming to the forefront.
Coach Jackson’s voice remains firm, unwavering. “Dariel, the evidence is overwhelming. We have transcripts, recordings—everything that connects you to this plan. It’s time to come clean.”
Keith presses a button on his laptop, and one of the videos I’d emailed him as we waited for Dariel to arrive begins to play. Dariel’s voice flows into the room.“I told you, girl. I’ll make you my wife if you can help me eliminate them. I need them gone from Washington. I’ll never get my spot back as long as everyone thinks Wayne Richards is the only man that can get the team to the Superbowl.” Dariel pauses and makes a snorting sound, then sniffles. “Not only will I have to apply pressure in practice when I get back, I need him to feel the pressure in his personal life too.”
“Does that phone call jog your memory?” Coach Jackson asks.
Dariel’s gaze drops momentarily before he looks up again, his façade cracking. “Fine, okay? Yeah, I was pissed about losing my spot. Yeah, I thought I deserved it back. But I didn’t mean for anyone to be hurt by it. I just want my position as quarterback.”
Keith looks sternly, his tone cutting through the excuses. “Dariel, you’ve jeopardized the team, Wayne’s reputation, and your integrity. Your actions have consequences.”
