by C. D. Gill
“Yes, I’ve seen both the complete video interview as well as read the transcript to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Our third-party tech professional did verify the video was unedited or retouched, so that will remain as strong evidence in this unusual case,” Mr. Hudson said.
A small thrill ran through him that the biggest piece of evidence he had in this case had been validated. One hurdle cleared in a long line of boobytrapped hurdles awaiting him. Maddox had given the mediator the interviews with the other players as evidence as well as affidavits from the players to use their testimonies in the case. None of that carried the weight Randall’s interview did, but not surprisingly they had no signed affidavit from him.
Mr. Hudson turned to Maddox. “Mr. Callahan, in conclusion would you please state for the record what you are seeking from the defendant?”
Maddox straightened in the chair. “Yes, my client survived five years in prison, multiple months spent in solitary due to death threats, having his character slandered, his job and potential jobs on an international level made void, and his savings depleted, leaving him on the streets with mere dollars to his name to start over. We are seeking ten million dollars in damages and losses. Additionally, we’d ask that Colorado University take appropriate steps to restore Mr. Reinerman’s good reputation and see that former Coach Randall be aptly and publicly disciplined and disowned for his actions.”
Xander almost choked. They’d spoken about setting the bar high to show the severity of the case. Ten million was way higher than he’d expected. He couldn’t fathom the university cared about getting rid of him that much. But Maddox was a veteran at these kinds of cases, as hard-hitting as they came according to the testimonies of other lawyers and clients. Xander trusted him.
Mr. Hudson nodded as he scribbled in his notebook. “I’ll contact you with our next meeting date once I have met with the defendant. I hope we can settle this quickly.”
Xander thanked him for his time and walked out of the room with his mind spinning. And dare he admit to a shred of hope that something like this might work out for him?
Maddox had stayed back to chat with the mediator but caught up to him before Xander reached his car. “Xander, great job in there. That went as smoothly as we could have hoped. I’ll be in touch with the next meeting date. Mr. Hudson is hoping to get this settled before the New Year so stay close to base. We may be seeing an end to this sooner than you think.”
Xander consented and watched Maddox leave in his shiny, perfectly clean luxury sedan. No doubt he’d won many cases with a ten-million-dollar-plus settlement attached to it in order to afford driving that kind of wealth on the pinball-esque winter roads. For a second, he allowed himself to imagine what kind of vehicle he’d buy when he could afford it. A beefed-up pickup truck. A Land Rover. A convertible sports car to weave through those mountain roads on a summer’s day. Maybe a hatchback with all the bells and whistles so he’d have enough room to carry sports equipment like Gia’s golf bag and a bag of soccer balls and cones, or his old snowboarding gear, aging untouched in the shed.
Whatever it was, it’d be sensible and not obscenely priced— just based on principle.
No, he couldn’t go there yet. There were countless ways this could all go sideways at a moment’s notice landing him in a long, drawn-out court battle where his culpability would be determined by skeptical strangers again.
At 3:45 PM, a knock came at the door, yanking him from the intense study of his online ad performance metrics. Reggie stood at the door with his hands in his pockets.
“Reggie, come on in. Good to see you,” Xander said.
Amidst the stress of the day, he’d forgotten Reggie was coming this afternoon. He led him upstairs to his workshop where his raw materials and tools lay untouched since before he had left.
“This is all I have. If you want more materials, we’ll have to go find it.” Xander checked his watch. “I have a few things to finish up on the computer, so you have a couple of hours to create what you will.”
Reggie nodded as he set his backpack on the floor next to the work bench. As Xander left, Reggie pulled a notebook from his bag and opened it. The kid had come armed with ideas. That impressed the suspicion out of him.
At 6:20, Reggie marched down the stairs and stopped at the door. “Uh. I left my notebook on the bench. Hope that’s okay.”
Xander smiled. “Does it hold all your design secrets?”
Reggie’s furrowed brow eased as the teasing hit its mark. “Yeah. Yeah it does. Don’t show anybody. I’ll see you tomorrow, Xander.”
At 6:30, Xander locked the front door and headed upstairs to see what kind of state the work room was in. The room appeared untouched except for the rectangular box on table. The pieces fit together like a puzzle, requiring no nails or glue to hold them together. On the side, a wooden piece slid off and on as an opening. On the top panel of the box, pencil markings showed where there would be shapes carved out.
A wooden shape-sorter with no hardware fastenings.
It was genius and intricate. How had he managed that in the last two-ish hours? Xander leafed through Reggie’s notebook. Tomorrow, he’d be in the workshop next to Reggie. This kid had lots to teach him.
Tuesday when Reggie knocked on the door, Xander wasted no time in getting to work with him. As they moved around the work bench getting tools set out, he admitted his nosiness.
“That shape sorter design is brilliant, man. How’d you come up with it?”
“The internet.”
Xander blinked. Of course. The internet had an answer for everything these days. “You have someone in mind for that?”
Reggie picked it up and twisted it in his hands. “Nah, it just seems like people pay more for kids’ stuff.”
He was right. Kids and special occasion items made way more than the average item off the shelf.
“Product design research. Market research. Is there anything you don’t do?” Xander laughed.
Reggie didn’t look at him. “Make enough money to survive on my own, but I’m hoping to change that.”
“Right there with you, man.” And he was. Strangely enough, this kid with his secrets and half-truths had Xander desperate to see him succeed. He knew from experience an ally could make all the difference with survival.
He let Reggie take the lead with conversation as they worked on their separate projects. Reggie’s influence had given him a boost of hope and entrepreneurial energy he hadn’t tasted for a few months.
By Wednesday, two items had sold off his website, Reclaim That. His Christmas advertising was working. One item was a wooden kids’ shelf and the other was the set of cork vases that the set of long-haired guys from his last workshop had made. He called the phone number they left on file and left a message that he’d have their check and t-shirts at his office any time during business hours.
Gia had been able to video call the last two days and fill him in on her day of work and how irritating it was being followed by Andy. Her annoyance gave him a small hint of reassurance that she might keep Andy at arms’ length. She hadn’t been told about any definite leads, but Burley would keep information like that very close to his tailored vest.
Thursday morning, he went fishing for a power cord in his work bag and came out with a letter. The handwritten note he’d forgotten all about on Monday. The “Alexander Reinerman” scrawl on the outside looked even but unfamiliar. He tore it open.
You’re being scouted when you least expect it. Keep everyone under suspicion. The scope is on you from afar, but the crosshairs never leave center mass. Do not let them get you alone.
The first letter was easy to shrug off, but this letter was much more unsettling, more direct. Considering he now spent the majority of his days alone, the chances of someone cornering him were pretty high. Everyone under suspicion? Physical harm? Assault on his businesses? Death? What if this were a code of some kind?
The more pressing and probable answer was that this was related to
Gia’s situation. Burley had insisted Xander save every possible contact point of Amos’s. Did he really want Burley knowing about another threat? Not when he’d put his bid in to be her protector and got denied.
He’d handle this on his own.
He logged into Gia’s video security feed, scrolling back to the Thursday night he’d closed up after the Upcycled Life workshop. She’d upgraded her package to retain a month’s worth of video feed, so he should have access to see whoever slipped the envelope into the mail slot on the front door. At first, he watched at one and a half speed. Once he got into the groove, he sped the video up much faster. Only Lucy and the mail man approached the front door. No one passing by spared a glance.
But then, a male figure with a backpack stopped and knocked at the door. A few seconds later, he turned toward the camera. Reggie. The time stamp said Monday 3:43 PM. In addition to Lucy and the mailman, Reggie stopped by every day, stayed for a minute, and then left. Saturday Lucy met him so he could work for the day.
Xander really couldn’t blame him for stopping by though. Reggie barely knew Xander and had no real reason to trust him. He’d made it only part of the way through the week’s worth of video when two knocks at the door were followed by it cracking open. His body went on alert.
Reggie gave him a chin jerk without stopping, headed for the stairs.
“Hold up. Quick question for you, man. Do you recognize this handwriting?” Xander held the envelope toward Reggie at his chest level. He wanted to see Reggie’s eyes when he looked at the writing.
Reggie scrunched his nose. “No, sorry. Can’t say I recognize anyone’s handwriting except maybe from my teachers.”
The truth was there in his face, plain as day.
Another dead end.
“Thanks. Just got this in the mail and no one signed it.” His explanation fell into the space where Reggie had been. His pounding footsteps echoed in the stairwell. The kid was driven and hopefully not looking for any trouble.
Instead of joining Reggie for another build session, Xander trudged back to the video feed. There were no suspects by the time his phone alarm went off to remind him to set up for the final workshop of the year. Stomping up the stairs, he attempted to mentally yank himself from his frustration.
Seemed clear enough that he was a target, but for whom?
Reggie worked under the blisteringly bright shop light Xander had for those intricate pieces he needed to see perfectly. Just outside the blinding pool of light sat the wooden shape sorter with a handful of chevron-painted pieces drying on wax paper next to it. Xander blinked. The project would have easily been finished by now if he’d slapped some paint on each block and been done as Xander would have when he was a teen. But Reggie was going for detailed.
He gathered a handful of general tools. What was he going to set out for this evening’s workshop? The tools in his hands went back to the hooks above his bench. Newcomers in a one-off workshop wouldn’t be able to handle Reggie’s interlocking design. He gathered the wood scraps and some rope. They could do trays or wooden boxes for a table centerpiece. It was basic, perhaps too plain to sell online.
He’d tell them to paint designs.
His mental funk was clearing as Lucy stormed into the space that he had just gotten set up.
“I’m testing out a new cupcake flavor on the crowd tonight,” Lucy said. “I love the taste of them, but they were my grandma’s recipe so I may be partial. And I can’t tell if Edith is being honest with me or saying what I want to hear so she can stay employed.”
She loaded the plates, stood the signs up next to each item, and stood back to survey her work. If she’d said which one was new, he’d missed it. He snagged a coconut butter pecan cupcake and took a large bite. Unexpectedly magnificent.
Lucy’s wide eyes stared at him. “And?”
“It’s incredible,” Xander muttered around a mouthful of cake.
Her ponytail slapped her cheeks as she bounced happily. “Hopefully, others will agree.”
When he leaned to ditch the cupcake paper in his trash, the envelope caught his eye. “Hey, Luce. Do you recognize this handwriting?”
Again, he held the envelope up.
She glanced over and barely took a second, her nose scrunched. “Yeah, that was the envelope that was sitting in the middle of my floor when I opened one morning. I stepped on it and almost slipped.”
Xander froze. “The middle of your storefront floor? Or your backroom floor?”
“Storefront.”
His nerves tingled. “Do you have a mail slot in your door?”
“No, but the seal at the bottom of the door gaps if you get close enough to see it. It wouldn’t be hard to shove that under the door.” Lucy shrugged as if it were old news.
His head spun. Someone had analyzed his life enough to know that Lucy was collecting his mail or close to him and Gia. Gia hadn’t been back in months for her protester-stalker person to connect her with Lucy.
Whatever it was couldn’t be involving Gia. The timeline didn’t fit.
But who else was targeting him? And why?
Chapter 9
Having a body guard was turning out to be a good-mood killer. It’s not that she resented having someone protecting her. It’s that she resented what he represented—someone who wanted to hurt her for their ridiculous notions. Not to mention, reporting her every move to Andy reminded her a lot of her days of dating Bronc and the abusive power he wielded. As she had then, after two days she minimized her daily movements to what was absolutely necessary. To stay safe, she needed to do only what was required.
Her stress-relieving runs now happened on the treadmill in the early morning in the basement—not at all the fresh air therapy she craved from running. She didn’t have time for the golf course, and she missed it more than anything.
When her movements were leashed, her mouth found renewed liberty to say whatever she wanted. Her sass got the better of her in her normal conversations now more than ever. Thankfully, Xander enjoyed her attitude, because Ma did not and reminded her of that in every language she spoke. Daddy just smirked and kissed her forehead.
Gia hung up from her call with Xander as she pulled into the driveway. Another night of nothing exciting to report—work and home and work again. But his huge news had her clutching her steering wheel with a gasp. The lawyer sought ten million for the settlement.
Money like that would flip his world upside.
If there was anyone who deserved to have their life back and more, it was Xander. Half that would allow him the ability to comfortably hire a solid team to run his new businesses while he pursued coaching again. She could hear the longing in his voice.
At dinner, she sat next to Antia. “What’d you guys find to do today?”
It pained her greatly to ask because they told her, tag-team, about the fun day they’d had touring historic buildings and eating gumbo. Sometimes, depending on the cousin, they’d try to downplay it to keep her from feeling like she was missing out. Antia did try. Of course, that was the biggest farce because she knew, they knew, everyone knew what she was missing and that she pretended to not miss it.
With every twinge of guilt of her absence with her Brazilian family, the mental reminder came barreling in behind. This was for Joey, to grant him time to grieve properly—wherever he was. Another part of it felt like penance to her parents for not stepping into the gap during her time in Colorado. Who knew how many “family projects” she’d missed out on because of her insistence on paving her own way after escaping Bronc’s abuse.
After dinner, she found Cara alone in the front room. She sat by herself a lot, staring at her phone or disappearing to run errands, unable to stay with the family for longer than politeness required. Gia couldn’t shake the feeling that something dark had stolen in. Since Tia’s death, Cara’s schedule which should have been empty had become jam-packed.
Gia plopped down beside her on the couch, tucking her feet under her. “How was your day?”
“The same.” Her voice was monotone as she brought her phone a little closer to her face.
How had they gone from sisters to strangers in a week? “I didn’t get to say bye last night. You left really quickly. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just didn’t feel well.”
Gia already knew thanks to Antia that Cara had excused herself from another day of cousin fun. “Did you sleep it off today?”
Cara’s hand flapped limply. “Yeah, yeah. I’m much better.”
She let the silence lapse, then sighed. “I miss Joey and Tia so much—”
In a blink, Cara stood staring down at Gia, her phone at her side. “No, I can’t do this. Not with you.”
Gia’s mouth hung open as she frantically searched for what to say to make things better. “I’m sorry?”
“I can’t, okay Gia?” Cara whirled around so fast, Gia almost missed her saying, “I have things I need to do.”
What things were those?
Cara had given up her job to care for Tia Carolena. Ma and Daddy were in charge of settling the estate, so if anything needed tending to there they’d do it. What exactly was she doing with her time?
Wednesday at noon, she sidled up to Andy’s desk outside of her office with her bag of celery in hand, ready to badger him into helping her. Crunching celery loudly could be very useful in getting what she wanted in a timely manner, but the silence of the cubicles around them quickly dissuaded her. Anyone could have been listening in.
“Andivo, good sir. Can I see you in my office for a moment?” She shuffled back into Joey’s office and leaned against the edge of the desk while Andy’s lanky form filled the doorway. He shut the door silently, looking at her with his hands shoved in his pockets.
A smirk toyed with his lips. “What can I do for you, Miss Carter?”