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Win introduced himself to the big man. Spark nodded, smiled, and nervously wrung his hands. Perspiration dotted his brow.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Win said to him.
“Thank you for sending the plane. Boy, that was a treat.”
“Was everything on board to your liking?”
“It was great, yeah. I never flew private before. Thank you again.”
“It was my pleasure,” Win said. He spread his arm to where Myron now stood. “Do you know Myron Bolitar?”
Spark started toward him. “We’ve never met, but my old boss really admired you, Mr. Bolitar.”
“Call me Myron.”
Myron shook Spark’s gigantic hand. It was like shaking hands with a throw pillow. “And Greg spoke highly of you too,” Myron said.
“Which is why you’re here,” Win said. “Let me just give you some quick background before I leave you two alone. The NBA is hoping to open a Las Vegas franchise. I’ll be the majority owner. Myron will be the team’s president and general manager. We are now in the process of interviewing coaching candidates.” Win looked toward Myron. “Did I forget anything?”
“Not that I can think of,” Myron said.
“Then I’ll leave you two to it. I promised the influencers I’d take them clubbing.”
When Win first left the room, both Myron and Spark just stood there. The room felt suddenly quiet and empty without Win. Win belonged in a room like this. Myron and Spark didn’t.
“Have a seat,” Myron said.
He did. Myron sat where Win had left the file with the photograph. Myron opened it and saw other sheets of paper. “Your résumé is impressive,” Myron said.
Spark’s normally ruddy complexion turned a dark shade of aw-shucks red. He tried to make himself comfortable on the sofa, but he was the kind of big where everything around him looked too small for him. “Can I just say something before we start?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t want to come across as a kiss-ass, but I remember the way you dominated the Final Four your senior year. I was a kid then, just starting to play. You were one of the coolest players I’d ever seen.”
Myron didn’t know what to say to that, so he went with “Thank you.” Then to get to the matter at hand: “It says here you worked three seasons under Greg Downing.”
“That’s right. All in Milwaukee.”
“What was that like?”
“Working with Coach Downing? I learned a lot. No one was better at scouting, at planning, at coming up with a game plan than Coach Downing. He was meticulous in his preparation. A real details guy.”
Myron nodded, remembering that that was how Greg had been on the court—the smartest and most prepared player he had ever seen. He could anticipate every play, every pass, every defense, every offensive set. He knew his opponents’ strengths and weaknesses and how to counter and exploit them.
“But,” Spark continued, “he also knew what buttons to push to get the maximum out of each player. Some guys needed to be coddled, some needed to be left alone, some needed tough love. Coach Downing understood that.”
Okay, Myron thought, enough with this uncomfortable setup.
“Do you mind if we start with a few basics?” Myron asked.
“Shoot.”
“What’s your family situation?”
“I’m married to Kendra. We met at Oklahoma State. She works as a dental hygienist. We have two boys, Liam and Joshua. Liam is eight, Joshua is six. Right now we live outside of Boston. But I already talked to Kendra and we’d be more than willing to move out here. This is an exciting opportunity for me. She gets that.”
Myron could see the hope in the man’s eyes, and it was crushing. This had been Win’s idea. Myron tried to take comfort in that, but it felt like a cop-out. He was participating, wasn’t he? He was the one asking the questions. He was the one who was now perpetuating the lie.
