It was easier than I thought it would be for us to get in each player’s home to set up once Devon arrived with the equipment we needed. All their houses are in poor neighborhoods with little to no security in place. It’s hard to ignore how much money is at stake for colleges with a winning season, yet these boys aren’t even supposed to get their dinner paid for by anyone associated with the school. It doesn’t seem fair.

A week into spying on these guys, there’s another note in the mailbox.

All recordings, videos, and images of the subjects from the previous list that document meetings, conversations, or discussions (even discussions between family members) regarding any football program should be turned in. A courier will arrive at your apartment every night at 10 pm for pickup. Do not leave it in the mailbox.

I knew Mr. Smith would be keeping a close eye on me, but I didn’t realize just how close. It also weighs heavy in favor of the client being from a rival school. Mr. Smith doesn’t want the conversations just between the players and Mitch, but their conversations with all the coaches. But the coaches aren’t the only ones showing up to talk to these guys.

It’s quickly obvious who the most valued player is: Tyron Nichols. Tyron lives in one of the poorest Black communities in the same town as the university. His house consists of three small bedrooms and one tiny bathroom, but is home to Tyron, his parents, a grandmother, and five younger siblings. His parents work long hours while the grandmother tends to the kids who aren’t in school yet. It’s clear his parents have no idea what to do with all the attention Tyron is getting.

But Tyron is smart. Even though he’s been offered money, he hasn’t taken any of it. Because when it comes down to it, Tyron is the one with the most at stake. If he loses his eligibility, he doesn’t play. There’s a close to zero chance he’ll go to the NFL, where he’d finally get paid what he’s worth, if he doesn’t have a successful college football career first.

I watch on my small screen when men in starched button-down shirts show up at Tyron’s door. I notice how he handles himself with them and then later listen in on the conversations he has with his brother, who is only one year younger, about what’s being offered.

By the second week, I’m exhausted. Even though Devon and I are dividing and conquering, it takes us all day to skim through footage from all five locations and separate the relevant parts before George knocks on my door in his UPS uniform.

The only good thing is that George seems to be warming up to me. The first pickup or two, it was all business, but now he lingers in my doorway and chats a bit. I even gave him a few slices of pizza last night for the road since he looked as worn out as we did. Makes me wonder how much area he’s covering in a day if he’s got to be back here every night.

While we’ve gotten some dirt on some of the other coaches, Mitch Cameron hasn’t stepped out of bounds once in any of his meetings with potential players. He’s up front about his desire for them to be a part of his team, he’s courteous to the family, complimentary about whatever food or drink is put in front of him. He is the perfect guest.

I’m having flashbacks to my time with Andrew Marshall, and there’s a tight twist in my gut about what I might be asked to do.

I’m ready to know what the job is.

After another long day of scrolling through videos, I drop the thumb drive in an envelope and glance at the clock. George should be here any second.

Once Devon saw the last set of instructions, he wouldn’t come to this apartment at all since he doesn’t like the idea of George being so close by, so I’ve had to add in a trip to get what he’s recorded. Those meeting spots change daily.

Two quick taps on the door lets me know he’s here.

“Hey, George,” I say, handing him the small package.

His forehead crinkles. “You’re not looking so good.”

“Always the charmer.” I roll my eyes. “You watch surveillance videos all day long and let me see what you look like.”

He hands me a manila envelope. “Got something for you tonight. Thought I’d save you a trip to the mailbox since I have to come by here anyway. Just don’t rat me out.”

My relief is evident. “Finally. And don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” I’m ready to tear into it but I notice George is lingering in the hall. “Is there something else?”

He nods once, then says in a near whisper, “Since this is your first job where you’re dealing directly with him, if it feels like a test, it is.”

I stare at him with wide eyes, silently begging for him to tell me more. But with those cryptic words, he’s gone.

I can’t rip open the envelope fast enough.

Cameron needs to be removed from his position without negative outcome financially or publicly to him, the university, or the program or any future prospects. No scandal.

I had a lot of theories of what I’d be asked to do but this didn’t make the top ten. And while the desired outcome and parameters are very clear, these instructions still feel very vague.

If it feels like a test, it is.

Well, here we go.

I can’t load some underage porn on Mitch’s computer and blackmail him into quitting because, for one, there’s no guarantee that won’t turn into some scandal, and two, if he quits, he forfeits the rest of what’s left in his contract—six million dollars—and that would hurt him financially.

Blackmail on his wife leads to the same results and blackmail on any member of the college opens them up to scandal and also hurts them financially, since they’d have to buy out his contract.

I feel like I’m boxed in.

I feel like I’m going to fail his test.

The only thing to do is start back at the beginning. He wouldn’t set me up to completely fail, so I’m missing something. He wants me to prove myself, so there is a way to get this job done—I just need to find it.

There’s a young blonde at the welcome desk who eyes me up and down quickly, then pastes a gigantic smile on her face.

“Welcome to Southern Ford! How can I help you?”

“I need to speak with Phil Robinson.”

“I’m not sure he’s available . . .”

“Give him this.” I drop a white envelope on the counter in front of her. Phil owns five Ford dealerships that are scattered throughout central Florida, but he keeps his main office in this location.

It only takes a moment for the receptionist to return and lead me to him. Phil meets us at the door. His eyes track me from the tips of my shoes to the top of my head. I’m feeding him the details I want him to have, to remember. My clothes are nice but not too nice. My jacket looks like it was fitted especially for me but it’s obvious my skirt is off the rack. My jewelry is minimal but tasteful. My hair is pulled back and the makeup heavier than what I normally wear. I’m thirty, easily.

My hand is out as I approach him, and he hesitates a second or two before caving.

“Mr. Robinson, thank you for seeing me,” I say as we shake hands.

He motions me inside his office and I do a quick survey of the room. He’s a super fan and one of the college’s biggest boosters. There are framed jerseys and game balls. Pictures with players and coaches, including Mitch Cameron. Phil sinks into his chair behind his desk while gesturing me to take the one across from him.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asks. He’s opened the envelope and pulled out the picture of stacks of cash sitting on the tailgate of a Ford truck with a sticker of his dealership’s logo on the back window. There is no room for small talk.

“I’m here about Roger McBain.”

Phil’s face shows confusion, but there’s red creeping up under his starched white collar. “I don’t know anyone named Roger McBain.”

My forehead crinkles as if I’m really taking him for his word and am somewhat confused, then I pull out more pictures. Pictures that show Phil and Roger together. “Huh, you two look pretty chummy here.” Then I put my iPad on the desk so it faces him. I press play on the video that is waiting on the screen. It’s a recording of a dinner with Phil, Roger, and a handful of other megadonors. Their discussion comes to life where they detail which high school prospects they want Roger to approach and how much money they will offer to each one. Phil even offers to throw in a couple of cars if necessary. “Anything to keep them from going to Florida State,” he says. There is also some bragging about how successful they were last year in scoring some of the best recruits. I end the video right after Phil says, “Giving away that F-250 was worth those twelve touchdowns.”

Phil stares at the screen from across the desk, and I can see the color drain from his face.

The one group that was not mentioned on that sheet of paper from Mr. Smith were the boosters. The mark: protected. The school: protected. The program: protected. The prospects: protected.

But not a word about those wealthy, overly invested boosters.

Mr. Smith knew I’d not only see the players talking to the coaches, but I’d also catch men like Roger McBain approaching them on behalf of boosters like Phil Robinson.

“Roger works for you. You tell him the players you want to commit to your alma mater, give him the funds to entice them to do so.”

I came with receipts and he knows it. He’s quiet, toying with a black ballpoint pen in his hands.

“I have just as many pics of you with the athletic director, the university president, and half the coaching staff so it’s not a stretch to assume the school knew what you were doing and even condoned it. Think the NCAA will give them a three or four season bowl ban?” This is my only bluff, because I can’t really pull the school into this, but Phil doesn’t know that. I just need him scared enough that I can tie the school to his activities. The last thing he wants is to be the guy who brought down the whole program.

He finally speaks. “What is it that you want?”

Even though I knew there was zero chance Phil would let the team suffer for something he did, I am relieved he’s crumbling under my threat.

“We want Mitch Cameron gone. You and your little friends will insist he be let go but you’ll be nice about it. You’re to say you don’t agree with Mitch’s vision. You’ll say it’s time for a rebuild. And then you’ll buy out his contract. No reason for the school to eat that six million dollars when it’s all your fault.”

His lips peel up over his teeth like he wants to growl at me. “You are under the impression I have more power than I do.”

“Nope. I believe in you, Phil,” I say brightly. “I believe you can get it done.”

“Why?” he asks. “Why Cameron?”

“Just like you, we want what’s best for the school. We’re all on the same team, Phil.”

He doesn’t like my answer and he doesn’t ask anything else. I gather my things, taking my time getting everything back in my bag. “I’ll expect an official announcement no later than Monday morning.”

And then I’m gone.

The breaking news on ESPN takes my attention away from the grainy footage of one of the players’ houses as I focus on the words flashing across the bottom of the screen.

Coach Mitch Cameron Is Out in Florida

And then the details. The university had terminated their contract with him, and money raised by the boosters will cover his buyout. The reason given was that Coach Cameron and the athletic director had a different vision for the future of the program.

That’s it.

Not even a minute later, there is a knock on the door and I almost jump out of my skin. Smoothing my hair back, I take a few deep breaths before I open it. And there’s the familiar face in the brown UPS uniform, a package in his outstretched hand.

“Hey, George!” I take the package and say, “Looks like I passed.”

“Looks like you did.” He smiles and leans against the doorjamb. “How does it feel?”

“Feels pretty good,” I answer.

He lingers a few more seconds, then pushes away. “See you soon.”

And then he’s gone.

I tear open the package the minute the door closes. Inside is a single typed page, a receipt, and a flip phone.

The paper reads:

The balance of your fee has been deposited. Details included. Keep the phone charged and you will be contacted for your next job.

That’s it. I check the deposit receipt and read the note again. I eye the figure on the receipt once more. That’s a lot of money. And it’s mine.

It takes only a few minutes to pack up what I need from the apartment, but I’m not going back to North Carolina. I need to find a spot where I can’t be found, a safe place to land between jobs. I’ve paid attention over the years and know how important it is to save for that inevitable rainy day. Maybe I can tuck away in another small college town like this. One where I can get lost in the sea of students.

I picture it. Visualize myself in a sleepy little town like this. A cute little house on a quiet street. Somewhere safe.

Now I just need to see it done.

There’s one thing I need to do before I go. My “new to me” Honda rolls to a stop in front of the small house, and I lock the door before I make the short walk across the tiny yard.

Tyron answers the door a few minutes after I knock.

“Hey, can you step out here for a second?”

He’s clearly confused but does what I ask. I walk back to my car and lean against the trunk while he stands on the curb next to me. This is more privacy than we would get inside his house.

“You don’t know me, but I wanted to give you some advice. You have a very bright future ahead of you and you’re smart, but you need to be smarter. Assume someone is listening. At all times. Assume someone will rat you out. I know you like to talk to your younger brother about all the offers . . . and extra incentives . . . but you need to stop. Keep your own counsel.”

His eyes are big. Like freaking-out big.

“And get what you can. Take it all. Make no promises and sign with the team you want regardless of what any other team offers you. But be smart about that too.”

I talk for a few more minutes and he seems to absorb everything I tell him. He asks questions and I answer what I can. I give him tips on where to put the money so it grows. How to keep a low profile. How to never trust technology. Just as I’m about to leave, he asks, “Who are you?”

I give him a smile and say, “Someone who has had to grow up fast, just like you.” I’m just about to turn and leave but ask one last thing. “Have you thought about where you want to play?”

He shrugs. “Not sure yet. Probably going wherever Coach Cameron ends up.”

I nod. “Yeah, I hear he’s looking for a new school now.”

“Yeah, he said that was coming but not to worry.”

Something about the way he says it makes me straighten. “When did he tell you that?” I’ve watched every interaction between Tyron and Mitch in that house and I never heard him say that.

“I ran into him about a week ago. He was kind of cryptic and shit but I got what he was saying. He wanted me to know he wanted me even if he wasn’t in Florida.”

Ran into him.

A week ago.

Mitch Cameron was let go this morning. He shouldn’t have known that was coming a week ago.

Very interesting.