Chapter 9 - Marcus Had Already Been Warned
Nora showed me the message after dinner.
One month earlier.
Nora:
Please leave Ethan out of any discussion about Caleb's career. He is anxious enough.
Marcus:
Understood. I was just checking how he felt.
Nora:
Don't check. Ask Caleb and me.
Marcus:
Fair.
Four letters.
Fair.
Then he spoke to Ethan twice more.
I stared at the screen.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Nora sat across from me.
“I thought it was handled.”
“Marcus doesn't handle boundaries by being asked once.”
“You knew that?”
I looked at her.
“Apparently.”
She almost smiled.
Didn't.
I put the phone down.
“I'm firing him.”
“Maybe.”
I stared.
“Maybe?”
“Do it because of what he did.”
“I am.”
“Not because you're angry tonight.”
“Same result.”
“No.”
She leaned forward.
“The problem isn't that Marcus is uniquely powerful.”
“He manipulated our son.”
“Yes.”
“And us.”
“Yes.”
“So why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“That if you fire Marcus and keep doing the same thing with the next person, nothing changes.”
I looked away.
She continued:
“You've let him be the person who tells sponsors no, coaches yes, family maybe, reporters later. He has been useful to you because he makes decisions feel like logistics.”
“He works for me.”
“Exactly.”
The sentence hit harder than it should have.
My phone rang.
Marcus.
I silenced it.
Nora looked at the screen.
“Answer.”
“You told me not to call last night.”
“Last night you were furious.”
“I'm still furious.”
“Then don't scream.”
I picked up.
“What?”
Marcus exhaled.
“Great start.”
“Nora told you a month ago not to discuss my career with Ethan.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“And you did anyway.”
“I didn't discuss your career.”
I laughed.
“You asked what basketball program he'd play for in California.”
“That's not a trade negotiation.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
Marcus went quiet.
I continued.
“You're done speaking to him.”
“I said fine yesterday.”
“You're done speaking to Nora unless she contacts you.”
“Fine.”
“And tomorrow I'm meeting with your agency's managing partner.”
Longer silence.
“For what?”
“To decide whether you're still representing me.”
Marcus's voice changed.
Not scared.
Personal.
“You think fourteen years ends because I asked your kid whether he could imagine California?”
“No.”
I looked at Nora.
“It ends because my wife told you to stop and you decided you understood my family better than she did.”
Marcus said nothing.
Then:
“You want the ugly version?”
“I've had enough versions.”
“You don't call me because I give you options. You call me because I choose which ones you can live with.”
I stared at the wall.
He continued.
“When your rookie contract came up, you couldn't tell your mother no. I did.”
Different family.
Different decade.
Still true.
“When sponsors wanted Ethan in commercials, you couldn't tell them no. I did.”
Also true.
“When Nora wanted you to miss a road trip for the school surgery—”
“Stop.”
“You told me to make the team say no so you wouldn't have to.”
Nora’s face changed.
I felt heat rise into my neck.
“That was six years ago.”
“You asked.”
Nora whispered:
“What?”
I ignored her.
Marcus continued.
“You trained me to make hard choices look external.”
I closed my eyes.
Because that one was true too.
Not all of it.
Enough.
Marcus said:
“I'm not proud of the Ethan stuff.”
“The Ethan stuff.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“Then you also know I thought I was helping.”
Nora shook her head.
Marcus couldn't see it.
I could.
He continued:
“You and Nora were tearing each other apart over a move neither of you would admit you wanted or didn't want. I thought if Ethan gave you a common direction—”
“You used him as a vote.”
Silence.
I ended the call.
Nora stared at me.
“What school surgery?”
I put the phone down.
Six years earlier, Ethan had needed a minor procedure.
Routine.
I had been scheduled for a road game.
Nora asked me to stay.
I told her the team wouldn't allow it.
Now she knew the rest.
“The team would've let you?”
I didn't answer.
Her face changed anyway.
“How many times?”
“Nora.”
“How many times have you made someone else tell me no?”
May you like
I couldn't give her a number.
That was worse than having one.
