“It’s true I can’t ski anymore, Mandy,” Jeannie said quietly. “I’ll most likely never coach and I don’t even know if I’ll walk normally again, to be honest. Do you think, without Massimo, that means I’m weak?”
“You? No! In a thousand different ways, you’re the strongest person I know!”
“I am going to be like Mom,” Jeannie interrupted. “The way she was her whole life, medal or no medal, husband or no husband.” She took Amanda’s hand. “At least, I hope I can be. Every day she was strong and compassionate and forward-thinking, no matter what happened. She never felt sorry for herself, and that’s how I want to be. Just like you’re strong, too, Mandy.”
“You think I’m strong? Me?”
Jeannie rose and then shuffled around the bed, one slow dip of her knee in front of the other. She sat beside her sister and put her arm around her. A wave of emotion swamped Amanda. For a moment they were flashed back in time; Amanda was the ten-year-old big sister and Jeannie just seven. She smiled with that same dimpled grin, but her eyes were older and wiser. Kinder, too, and that was saying something, because Jeannie was born disingenuous.
“Be happy, Mandy. You don’t need to fight for power outside yourself, like Dad does, because you have a more potent power inside you. I’ve always seen it because it’s always been there.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“You are strong. Think of this—you stood up to Daddy. Maybe it wasn’t effective, but still, you sought him out on Mom’s behalf when she was too sick to do it herself, and you fought for her. Mom knew that, and in my mind it counts for everything.”
“I wasn’t effective, was I?” She wished she could have been. She wished she knew how to handle her father the way Jeannie did.
“Don’t focus on that now,” Jeannie said. “Focus on the fact that you’re strong in your heart. No matter what job you do or don’t decide to tackle. Or what relationship.”
“I don’t want to hurt Brody,” Amanda whispered. She never had. But maybe her fear of being weak had stood in the way of building something lasting with him. Something that fed her and sustained her as Paradigm never could.
“Do you want to be with Brody?” Jeannie asked. “Because it’s obvious he loves you. He never would have led you to Dad and spoken to him like that if he didn’t love you and want you to be happy.”
She held her head in her hands. Why hadn’t she seen it like this? But it was the only explanation that made sense. Oh, God, Brody must love her.
“I want to be with him more than anything,” she whispered. She missed him. She missed everything about him.
The way they laughed together at meals. The infinite patience he had with her, and the way they were drawn together like two pieces of a puzzle that fit, no matter the situation.
“Then do it.” Jeannie nodded at her fiercely. “And don’t ever mistake following your heart for weakness. Do you understand? Brody has proven himself a good man for you. That’s strength, not a weakness.”
She did understand. And he had proven himself the right man for her.
So how was she going to fix this dilemma they found themselves in?
And effectively this time.
AMANDA SMOOTHED HER HAND over her skirt and prepared to sit down with the man who, prior to this morning’s few brief sentences, hadn’t spoken to her in almost a year.
Not since the day she’d confronted him in his office in Colorado Springs and, instead of his remorse and help for her mother, she’d received a bony finger pointed at her heart along with the announcement that she was no longer his daughter.
Her heels faltered on the polished wooden floor of the cavernous lobby. So many feelings, all so complicated, swirled within her. In the past, her father had pushed her. He’d made her cry, he’d made her rage and he’d made her feel ashamed. He had that talent of being able to press all her buttons if he wanted to.
But her reactions were up to her, as they always had been. She couldn’t let herself dwell on the past and the mistakes she’d made then. Now, she wanted to be effective. She wanted to lay the groundwork for the way her future relationship with him would be conducted. And she knew how to do this. Jeannie was right; above all, if she operated from her inner strength, remembering her compassion for herself and the people she loved, then she would be okay.
Straightening her crisp wool business suit, she strode into the restaurant where her father sat at a table in the darkened room opened just for him, as if he were one of the Medici princes. Yes, dressed all in black, from his Armani jacket and slacks to his expensive handmade loafers, Daddy looked formidable, as he always did.
She paused several feet away on the carpet decorated with swirling gold medallions. When she and Jeannie were kids, he’d instilled in them the belief that nothing was worth doing unless they became champions. Amanda hadn’t been the champion of anything back then, and his disappointment in her knew no bounds. She was a terrible skier, a horrendous athlete and then later at college, a poor business student.
And now?
She lifted her chin. Technically she had a new position at Paradigm—a position he respected—but Jeannie was right, that wasn’t her strength.
I have inner strength, Daddy. Something you might not understand, but to me, it’s a quality of the best champions.
Squaring her shoulders, she approached his table. When he neglected to stand or greet her or even get off his phone, she didn’t let herself feel cowed. This was who he was, and she knew that about him going in. Instead of getting irritated, she coughed and seated herself across from him. Placing her phone on the table beside her, she caught a server’s eye. “San Pellegrino, per favore.”
The pretty Italian server smiled and looked questioningly at her father, but he waved her away.
Amanda folded her hands and waited for him, until he decided he was finished making his point with her. She felt acceptance inside, for herself and for Brody, and for her father, too. There was a place inside her heart that had relaxed and unknotted—some of the fury, the wounds, the deep, deep grief at the unfairness of her mom’s death. She had done the best she could for her mother, even if he was incapable of seeing what he’d done was wrong.
It wasn’t her job to point it out to him. Not today, anyway. Whether he changed or didn’t change in his heart toward her mother, wasn’t the point of this meeting.
When he finally clicked off his phone and stared at her, his gaze intending to be intimidating, she simply smiled and said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Daddy.”
He stilled, a flash of puzzlement crossing his face. Momentarily, at least, she’d thrown him off balance.
She sipped her sparkling water and carefully set it down. Her purpose was clear: to dig out as much as she could about Brody’s steroid use and her father’s involvement in it. She needed to extract information from him without threatening him or causing him to shut down. And to do so, she needed to trust that now she better understood how to help the people she cared about. As she hadn’t on that day all those months ago when she was scared out of her wits and driven against the wall.
“I spoke with your friend Vernon today,” she said. “He told me you called him.”
Her father’s gaze never left hers. “You got your promotion?”
“I did.” She smiled carefully. She felt wiser now, more confident in her power. Because, oh, yes, she did have power. “Vernon mentioned an article he wants me to write involving a high-level official who wishes to remain anonymous. I assume that’s you?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all.” He waved his hand. From his briefcase, he withdrew a single sheet of paper. Clicking open his pen, he handed it to her. “You need to sign this first.”
A year ago—heck, a day ago—she would have laughed in his face and thrown the pen back at him. But she accepted the sheet of paper and skimmed it.
The document was what she’d expected—a confidentiality agreement. “Everything I say to you is off the recor
d.” Standard practice in business. And her father, a graduate of one of the nation’s most prestigious business schools, was among the best.
She didn’t feel distaste as she signed her name on the indicated line. Her signature, even, looked different. Bigger and bolder. The same as before, but more of itself.
Sitting back, she made eye contact with him. “Anything else we need to get out of the way before we proceed, Daddy?”
“I see you’re over your mother,” he noted. “Finally.”
His voice held a tone of derision. But if she shouted at him, if she flung herself into an argument with him, then he would have succeeded in dragging her down to his level. How effective would that be?
Instead, she calmly handed him his pen and picked up her own. “If you mean am I still angry with you for not helping with her treatment, then you’re right, I’m past that. But if you mean am I finished mourning Mom, the answer is no. Someday I hope to be, though I know I’ll always miss her.”
Her father blinked. His gaze darted to his phone. A small sign of guilt? she wondered.
Interesting.
“How very enlightened of you,” he said.
“Yes.” She smiled. “It’s water under the bridge, and I hope you see it that way, too.”
He nodded. “You’re certainly accepting today.”
“I don’t want us to be estranged anymore, Daddy. It’s not good for me.”
He leaned forward. “And I want Brody taken down. Can you arrange that or not?”
So here it was. What he wanted. His “tit for tat.”
Very well, she’d been expecting this. At this point in her life, she had no illusions about her father’s character or personality. He was a known entity, and that was a plus. Maybe the secret to maintaining a civil relationship with him was to think of him as the willful, emotionally immature child, and herself as the more mature parent who understood how to handle him.
“Daddy, in order to write about the event, I need a source to go on the record. Are you willing to be that credible source?”
He shook his head. “You’re not to use my name, ever.”
She took her recorder from her purse. “Then I’ll need your quotes.”
“I won’t do that either,” he said flatly.
She laid down her pen and laced her fingers together. “Please help me see where there’s a story.”
“It’s simple, Amanda. You do what Vernon asks. You write that there’s a high-level member of this team who has knowledge of Brody’s steroid abuse, specifically during the last two years of his career. That’s it. That’s all. Put it out there.”
She clicked open her pen. He wasn’t going to make this easy for Brody, and she hadn’t expected he would.
“To properly investigate the allegation, I need details,” she said. “And there’s no one else who can give me better details…” She looked into his squinting, recessed eyes. “Than you.”
He drew back. He knew that what she said was perfectly logical and said without animosity, but still he hesitated, uncertain of the risk.
Finally, he smirked at her. “Very well.” He lowered his voice. “Use this. It started two years ago. Brody twisted his ankle on a slalom run, several gates down. It’s on the television footage—look it up.”
Amanda made a show of scribbling notes, though she knew the facts well. Had watched the video of Brody’s accident, in fact.
Her father fell into a careful, assessing silence, so she nudged him along with another smile and a simple question. “Will you tell me what Brody did next?”
“I’m not intimately aware. As executive director of the federation, I’m removed from the day-to-day operations.”
“Of course.” She nodded as if she agreed. “Two years ago, you were his main coach. Were you aware of anything then?”
He tapped his fingers on his pad. “I can tell you what my assistants told me.”
“That would be helpful.”
“They said he became affected by his injury. The tear affected his reflexes, they claimed.”
“And did he continue to race?” she asked.
“He was our top-ranked racer,” he scoffed. “What do you think?”
They kept him racing because the team needed the money that came with sponsors, advertisers and contracts. Follow the money. Amanda willed out her breath slowly. Now was not the time to feel indignant on Brody’s behalf. “And then what happened, Daddy?”
“I’m told, in a nutshell, that Brody took steroids in the belief it would speed recovery of his injury.”
“And did it?”
“He won his next slalom race, didn’t he?”
This interview was killing her. Indignation for the pain Brody had suffered was threatening to explode through her. But to help Brody, she needed to let it go.
“And then what did he do, Daddy?”
“What he always does—he celebrated in his typical, over-the-top style. Until, of course, the positive result came in on one of the steroid tests and that ended everything.”
She bit back her sorrow, forcing herself to jot silly repeated phrases. Speed recovery, next slalom race, over-the-top.
Her father suddenly laughed. “Alto Baglio. Don’t you love the significance of the timing?”
Her pen shook. Of course. Alto Baglio was the race that was tainted. She hadn’t realized before now. Oh, Brody. That’s why this race was so important to him; he was redeeming himself.
But she focused on her notebook. Let the pen lie loose in her hand. “You were very skilled to keep this scandal out of the press.”
“Out of the press?” he asked harshly. “My real skill was in keeping the results from the international federation and the other teams’ coaches and skiers. That, my dear, was pure artwork.”
She could just imagine. But she simply nodded. “Were any of the testers aware?”
His eyes narrowed. “I saw the results first. I managed it.”
He’s in it knee-deep.
“Do any of Brody’s team members know?”
“Every damn one of them knows. And they’ll never say a word about it to you.” His face turned mottled.
She had best tread carefully. “How did you think to handle Brody when he was no doubt outraged by your very reasonable assistance toward him?”
Her father leaned back, expanding his chest as if remembering the event. He also seemed to enjoy the ego stroke she’d given him. “My dear, you can’t imagine. Brody threw a wild fit. Claimed his food was tainted. Claimed I was the one who had done it to him. Ridiculous.”
Then he eyed her. “But you should know his temper well, you’ve spent the last several days with him, I believe. Stuck in a snowstorm, I’m told.” He steepled his hands and studied her.
Amanda kept her face expressionless. She had to use all her control because she needed to find out the truth. For Brody’s sake. “Yes, Daddy, I was assigned to write about him. I do whatever it takes to complete my job.”
His eyes sparkled. “Like your old man?”
She looked him dead in the eye. Yes, once upon a time, she was like that, too: mistaken in her priorities. “Absolutely.”
“It must have been repugnant to you.”
She bit her tongue. “Every job has its drawbacks.”
“Yet he seems smitten with you. I saw him dancing with you at your sister’s wedding.”
What could she say? Brody had jumped through hoops in order to be with her, and she loved him for that, but she couldn’t show her father. Not while he considered Brody the enemy and was doing everything in his power to destroy him. No way would she alert MacArthur to the fact that he wasn’t a good enough father for her to side with him, even over a man she’d only known and loved for such a short time.
“One wants what one cannot have,” she quipped.
Her father slapped his knee. “It was a shame you couldn’t ski.”
And there he was, pushing the old buttons. But she didn’t miss a beat. “As it turns out, I have ot
her strengths, Daddy.”
Against every expectation, he gave her a nod of approval. Amanda blinked.
“I’m told you have the makings of an excellent investigative reporter,” he said.
And then he smiled at her again, that gesture of genuine fatherly pride she’d felt earlier in the morning.
Funny, she thought, with a sense of clarity she’d never had before, but his opinion of her really didn’t matter.
Jeannie was right. She didn’t need this job or this article to stand equal with him. She was anyone’s equal. She was enough, with or without outside power. There was power within her. It didn’t matter what her job was or what she accomplished in it. Maybe it never had.
She turned the page on her notebook and sat straighter on the leather seat. “Yes, Daddy, it will be my pleasure and my calling to investigate this story. But to do so, I need the specifics on the ‘in a nutshell’ part of the steroid-taking, and I need to hear it from you.” She looked up at him. His brow was creased.
“My name and my interests will not be associated?” he repeated.
“I promised I won’t use your name or your title. But you need to be specific on the details with me because I’ll never get them from anybody else. I know, I’ve been trying all week.”
She was rewarded. He settled into his seat with the air of a man who had executed his payback and was pleased he had succeeded. Her father’s weakness was that he thought integrity was for losers. He thought winning—the result—was all that mattered.
“It was a World Championship year,” he began, “and we needed to keep Brody skiing. Within an hour after the injury though, we knew he was in trouble. I used my contacts to call in a coach who’d successfully rehabilitated injuries like his. We needed it done quickly, so it was my idea to push a new treatment we were experimenting with, to heal the sprain faster and more effectively than normal. We experimented with nutritional powders—there was an over-the-counter powder we added to his meals, I’ll look up the name and get back to you—because that did the trick. Brody won Alto Baglio, didn’t he? I take full credit for that.” He smiled smugly.
“But then,” he continued, “the positive result came back from one of the tests. I was shocked—no one realized the extent to which some of the products were tainted. How could we? The mistake I made was in showing the results to Brody—thinking it would keep him in line, but instead he lost whatever sanity he had and blamed everyone but himself. Men on his team heard him shouting. There were rumors upon rumors that needed to be explained and covered. It made my week hell.”
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