Chapter 19 - Atlanta
The drive to Atlanta took four hours.
For the first hour, Jordan slept.
Marcus kept the radio low.
At a rest stop, Jordan woke and realized his father had driven nearly a hundred miles without making a single call.
“You okay?” Marcus asked.
“Yeah.”
“Nervous?”
“No.”
Marcus smiled.
“Liar.”
Jordan laughed.
“A little.”
Marcus nodded.
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Means you care.”
Jordan looked out the window.
The Atlanta Elite Showcase occupied a massive sports complex with twelve basketball courts.
College logos appeared on jackets everywhere.
Jordan’s confidence vanished the moment he entered.
Players were taller.
Faster.
Some already had offers listed on social media.
Marcus noticed Jordan becoming quiet.
“Hey.”
Jordan looked over.
Marcus pointed toward the court.
“You belong wherever they invited you.”
Jordan swallowed.
“Coach Reed tell you to say that?”
“No.”
“Sounds like him.”
“I’ve been stealing material.”
Jordan smiled.
At registration, Marcus signed nothing.
Jordan was eighteen now.
He completed his own forms.
That detail mattered.
They entered Court Seven.
Marcus climbed the bleachers.
Jordan stopped him.
“Dad.”
Marcus turned.
Jordan looked toward an open seat halfway up.
“Sit there.”
Marcus nodded.
No reserved sign.
No ceremony.
Just a seat.
Marcus sat.
Jordan joined warmups.
The first game went badly.
Jordan missed four shots.
Committed two turnovers.
Got beaten backdoor.
He looked toward Marcus once.
Marcus did not shake his head.
Did not check his phone.
Did not gesture instructions.
He simply watched.
Second game, Jordan settled.
He scored fourteen.
Third game, nineteen.
A Carolina State assistant sat courtside.
So did coaches from two smaller universities.
Late in the final game, Jordan stole a pass and finished through contact.
The whistle blew.
He landed hard.
The crowd reacted.
Jordan sat up immediately.
Marcus half stood.
Then stopped himself.
The trainer reached Jordan first.
Jordan looked toward the bleachers.
Marcus remained where he belonged.
Jordan smiled slightly.
He made the free throw.
Afterward, Coach Collins’s assistant approached.
“Good day.”
Jordan wiped sweat from his face.
“Started rough.”
“So?”
Jordan laughed.
“So I finished better.”
“That matters.”
He handed Jordan a card.
“We’ll talk.”
Marcus waited outside the court.
He did not ask what the coach said until Jordan volunteered.
“They’re still interested.”
Marcus grinned.
“Good.”
Jordan looked at him.
“You didn’t leave.”
Marcus’s smile faded.
“No.”
“Not even during the first game.”
“No.”
Jordan adjusted his bag.
“I played terrible.”
Marcus shrugged.
“I wasn’t there for your percentage.”
The sentence struck Jordan unexpectedly.
He looked away.
Marcus opened the trunk.
On the drive home, Jordan slept again.
Near midnight they reached the Walker house.
Jordan carried his bag inside.
Marcus walked toward the kitchen.
Jordan stopped him.
“Dad.”
Marcus turned.
Jordan pulled his phone out.
He opened the photo from championship night.
Jordan holding the trophy alone.
Coach Reed beside him.
Empty space on the other side.
“I was gonna delete this.”
Marcus looked at the picture.
“Why?”
“Made me mad.”
Marcus nodded.
Jordan studied it.
“I think I’m keeping it.”
Marcus swallowed.
“Okay.”
“It happened.”
“Yes.”
Jordan put the phone away.
Marcus expected him to go upstairs.
Instead, Jordan opened the hallway closet and retrieved the championship trophy.
He set it on the living-room shelf beneath the family photograph.
Marcus watched.
“Looks better there.”
Jordan nodded.
Then he went upstairs.
Marcus remained staring at the trophy.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Terrence Cole.
We need to settle Ridgeway before I make this uglier.
Marcus read it twice.
Then another message arrived.
You think Carolina State was bad? Ask Jordan how North Ridge would feel about a donor-funded athlete whose family money is dirty.
Marcus’s face hardened.
For months his instinct had been to hide threats until he could manage them.
This time he walked upstairs.
He knocked on Jordan’s door.
Jordan opened it.
“What?”
Marcus held out the phone.
“You need to see this.”
Jordan read Terrence’s message.
His expression changed.
Marcus said, “I’m sending it to Denise.”
Jordan looked up.
“You’re not gonna answer him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Marcus took back the phone.
“Because I don’t want peace with him.”
Jordan waited.
Marcus continued.
“I want the truth documented.”
Jordan nodded.
Marcus turned to leave.
“Dad.”
He looked back.
Jordan hesitated.
“Thanks.”
“For showing you?”
Jordan nodded.
Marcus smiled sadly.
“I’m learning not to make you discover your own life.”
He went downstairs.
Jordan closed the door.
That night Denise reviewed Terrence’s texts.
By morning she had advised Marcus to preserve them and to stop direct communication.
She also uncovered something from Ridgeway’s financial records.
Terrence had not lost all the investment money.
Six months after the project supposedly collapsed, a company linked to his brother had received $38,000 from the Ridgeway account.
The failed investment might not have been merely bad business.
Marcus may have been defrauded.
So may Jordan.
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The difference was that Marcus no longer wanted the problem to disappear.
He wanted it exposed.
