“Like Barnes.”
Volkov nods. “A player of his caliber, in a market like Oakland, could be worth considerable money to the right organization.”
“So what’s the next step?”
“The next step is proving your commitment to our organization.”
“How do I do that?”
A cold smile lifts Volkov’s lips. “By demonstrating that you understand the consequences of betrayal.”
The office door opens. Alexei steps inside and closes it behind him.
“You see, Zane, we’ve had some interesting conversations recently. With people who claim to know about your current affiliations.”
My blood turns to ice. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Federal agents. Very persistent people. They seem to think you might be willing to cooperate with them in exchange for certain considerations.”
Shit.
“I don’t know any federal agents.”
“Of course not. But hypothetically, if you did know such people, what would you tell them about our organization?”
“Nothing. Because there’s nothing to tell.”
“Nothing to tell. Even though you worked for us for eight months? Even though you threw twelve games and earned six hundred thousand dollars in the process?”
He’s testing me. Seeing if I’ll admit to crimes, seeing if I’m recording this conversation.
“That was a long time ago. Different life.”
“Indeed. A life that ended when you tried to terminate our business relationship without permission.” Volkov’s voice gets harder. “Do you remember what happened next?”
“My knee got fucked up.”
“Your knee got fucked up because we arranged for you to have an accident during practice. A very specific accident that ended your career.”
There it is. He just admitted that they destroyed my career intentionally.
“I remember.”
“Good. Because that’s what happens to people who betray our organization. And it’s what will happen to people who work with federal agents to investigate our organization.”
Alexei steps closer to my chair. I catch sight of the bulge of a shoulder holster under his jacket.
“The question, Zane, is whether you’re here because you genuinely need work, or because someone asked you to gather information about our business practices.”
“I genuinely need work.”
“I hope so. Because if you’re recording this conversation, if you’re cooperating with law enforcement, if you’re anything other than a desperate former athlete trying to pay his father’s medical bills... ” Volkov shrugs. “Well. Accidents happen.”
Alexei’s hand moves to his jacket and slides it open. He doesn’t draw his weapon, just reminds me it’s there.
“I’m not recording anything.”
“Of course not. But you won’t mind if we check?”
