My eyes had just succumbed to the weight of my eyelids, and I was almost there when I was disturbed.
“Stewart Chadwick is here,” Lexi said as she touched my shoulder.
“Sure he is,” I mumbled and pulled myself together.
“I’ll put some coffee on,” Lexi said and left me sitting in the twilight.
There were times when I wondered if having a PA was better or worse than having a wife. I might have to ask my dad about that.
◊◊◊
They were in the dining room. Someone had come up with a genuine conference phone so we could call Mr. Morris, and Dad was in the process of doing just that. I saw that someone had set up video cameras on tiny tripods facing where we planned to sit and then at Stewart’s seat. He didn’t look happy about it.
I put on a corporate smile and shook his hand. My granddad used to say that a smile didn’t cost you anything, but to never underestimate the value of one.
“Stewart, so glad you could come,” I said.
Dad glanced up, and I could see the glint of amusement in his eyes. He was evidently somewhat psychic because he could figure out when either my mom or I was ‘in a mood.’ He’d become an expert at defusing us. Somehow, I doubted he was about to save Stewart.
“What’s with the cameras?” Stewart asked.
“Last time we met, you said we could record our meetings.”
“David’s …” Mr. Morris began.
“Leave it,” Dad said to cut Mr. Morris off.
At some point, I would have a talk with him about interrupting me. I know that sounds arrogant, but I’d survived my mom all these years. I could handle Stewart Chadwick, and my dad knew it.
“Sorry, but I would rather we didn’t record tonight’s conversation,” Stewart said.
“I have to wonder why not. We’ve recorded multiple conversations and provided them to the NCAA, all with the goal of transparency,” I said and paused to let that sink in. “I’ve learned that if you don’t have anything to hide, you should be comfortable with the conversation being recorded. Heck, with what I do as my day job, I assume that I’m being recorded 24/7 by someone.
“Are you sure that’s how you want to play it?” I asked.
“I would ask that you remove these cameras before we talk,” Stewart said.
“Okay, I’ll get rid of these two,” I said.
“And I insist that Mr. Morris not record our conversation,” Stewart said, being sly.
That was precisely what we planned to do, hence the fancy conference phone to pick up all sound in the room.
“Okay. We’ll play it your way,” Dad said as he unplugged the video cameras and put the lens caps on them.
I surprised Dad when I took my bodycam off and turned it off. I had him do the same. This was the first time he’d shown any doubt about what I was up to. We had security cameras at the entrances, in the kitchen, and my bedroom. Dad knew that the dining room was a blind spot in our security.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Why not?” I asked.
I knew precisely why not. Stewart was pleased when he saw how uncomfortable my dad was.
“Thank you. Not that I plan to say anything controversial, I just want to make sure that nothing gets taken out of context.”
I bit back saying that was why we videoed everything.
We took our seats, and Lexi came in with coffee. I was happy when she left an insulated coffee carafe so I wasn’t jonesing for another one in ten minutes. She was also smart enough to set it next to me after everyone had a cup.
“I was a little disappointed that you weren’t able to get Coach Foster to admit to the shoe deal scheme.”
“We were too,” Dad agreed.
“I was also concerned when you told him you weren’t interested in going to school there,” Stewart said.
“I don’t need to string him along. He knew when he came to meet me that he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of me going there. They haven’t built their program to the point where they can expect to win consistently. It’s not as easy to build a college program as Coach Foster tried to portray, and I wouldn’t make enough of a difference to get them there,” I said.
“Why can’t they get there? It looks like they’re gathering a heck of a recruiting class,” Stewart said.
“Kentucky had a top-fifteen class not so long ago. Did that win them any more games?” I asked.
I could see he wasn’t getting it.
“Let me make this simple. They don’t have the level of players needed to win games. Southwest Central State just went up in class to Division I. Their roster is full of players who couldn’t get into the better schools. I bet if I looked through their list of players, most of their starters last year would be rated two-and-a-half out of ten.”
“Wouldn’t better coaches get them the training to make them, say, an eight by the time they’re fifth-year seniors?” Stewart asked.
I laughed and shook my head.
