My stomach roils at the mention of my dad.
A lump forms in my throat. “What if I could give you the syndicate?”
Morrison’s finger freezes over the phone screen. “What?”
“What if I could give you everything? Names, operations, evidence of past game fixing. Everything you need to bring them down.”
“How?”
“By going back to them.”
“Going back to them, how? They know you’re FBI now. Your cover is blown.”
“They don’t know I’m FBI. Only Tate knows, and he’s not going to tell them.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he hates me and never wants to see me again. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
Morrison studies my face like he’s trying to figure out if I’m lying or just desperate enough to hand myself over on a silver platter.
“What’s your play?”
“I contact Volkov, the guy who approached me back in Detroit. Tell him I’m desperate, that my father’s medical situation got worse, that I need money fast.” I lean forward. “He’ll know I have access to players through my coaching position. He’ll be interested. Trust me.”
“And then what?”
“And then I wear a wire. Get him to talk about Detroit, about current operations, about their plans for other players. Give you everything you need to bring the syndicate up on RICO charges.”
Morrison toys with the handle of his coffee mug for a long moment. “You realize what you’re suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting we finish what we started.”
“You’re suggesting suicide. These people killed your hockey career when you tried to walk away the first time. What do you think they’ll do when they find out you’re wearing a federal wire?”
“I don’t care what they do to me.”
“You don’t care.”
“I care about protecting someone who deserves protection. I care about making sure the syndicate can’t hurt anyone else the way they hurt me.” I meet his eyes. “I care about doing something right for once in my fucking life.”
Morrison stares at me for a long time. Probably weighing options and risks, trying to figure out if he should just cut his losses and throw me in prison.
“You know there’s no backup plan here. If this goes wrong, you’re dead. And even if it goes right, you’re still probably dead. These aren’t people who forgive betrayal.”
“I know.”
“You know, but you’re still willing to do it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
My heart clenches. Because I love him. I love him enough to decimate my own life to protect his. I love him enough to walk into a situation that will probably get me killed if it means keeping him safe.
“Because the syndicate destroys everyone they touch, and he deserves a chance to live his life without looking over his shoulder.” I pause. “And because someone needs to stop these fuckers, and I’m the only one who can get close enough to do it.”
Morrison picks up his pen and starts tapping it against his desk. “What makes you think Volkov will trust you?”
