But that alone didn’t explain why the same number later appeared when I threw from the regulation rubber.
Daniel opened another field.
The radar unit identification matched the original gun used during my tryout.
Raymond took a slow breath.
“Was the radar calibrated after this test?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Not according to the record.”
I stared at the screen.
The number 101 seemed to glow brighter than everything around it.
For the first time, I wondered whether Holloway had expected that reading before I ever arrived.
Raymond looked at Daniel.
“Can you print this?”
Daniel nodded.
The printer began humming.
Then the office door opened.
Coach Holloway stood in the doorway.
His face was pale.
“Daniel.”
The assistant froze.
Holloway looked at the computer.
Then at the paper emerging from the printer.
“Shut it down.”
Raymond stood.
“Brent, these records need to be preserved.”
Holloway stepped into the room.
“You’re accessing confidential material.”
Daniel swallowed.
“It’s the equipment test log.”
Holloway pointed at him.
“You’re finished here.”
The assistant looked stunned.
“What?”
“Hand over your badge.”
My mother gasped.
“You’re firing him for showing an equipment record?”
Holloway ignored her.
Daniel slowly removed his badge.
His hands trembled.
He placed it on the desk.
Then he looked toward Raymond.
“I’m sorry.”
Raymond shook his head.
“You haven’t done anything wrong by preserving a legitimate record.”
Holloway stepped toward the printer.
I moved aside.
The printed page dropped into the tray.
Holloway reached for it.
Raymond picked it up first.
“Don’t.”
The coach stopped.
For several seconds, they stared at each other.
Then Holloway spoke quietly.
“You have no idea what you’re getting involved in.”
Raymond folded the paper.
“Then enlighten me.”
Holloway looked toward the hallway.
“Some things are bigger than one kid’s baseball dream.”
I felt the words like a slap.
My mother moved closer.
“Not to his family.”
Holloway looked at her.
His expression hardened.
“Mrs. Brooks, you should take your son home.”
She shook her head.
“We’re not leaving without knowing why his name was attached to this equipment test.”
Holloway glanced toward Daniel.
Then he said something that made the assistant look away.
“Because somebody wanted to know what would happen if the radar showed a number nobody believed.”
The room went silent.
Raymond stared at him.
“Somebody?”
Holloway’s eyes shifted toward the administration building.
He seemed to regret what he had said.
Raymond stepped closer.
“Who?”
Holloway shook his head.
“Forget it.”
But Daniel suddenly spoke.
“Coach, the instruction came from Gerald Mercer.”
Holloway spun around.
“Shut your mouth!”
The assistant stepped backward.
Raymond raised his hand.
“Brent, don’t threaten him.”
Holloway pointed toward Daniel.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.”
Daniel’s voice trembled.
“I only followed the records.”
I looked at Raymond.
“Who’s Gerald Mercer?”
The scout answered without taking his eyes off Holloway.
“Weston’s operations director.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why would he care about my pitching?”
Nobody answered.
Then Holloway’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
He answered quietly.
I couldn’t hear the other person.
But I heard Holloway say, “They found the inspection tag.”
A pause followed.
Then he glanced toward me.
“Yes, the boy’s still here.”
My mother stiffened.
Raymond stepped closer.
“Brent, who are you speaking with?”
Holloway turned away.
“Not now.”
He listened again.
Then his face drained of color.
He ended the call.
For several seconds, he stared at us.
Then he said something that made my heart pound.
“DeShawn, you need to leave this complex.”
I swallowed.
“Why?”
His voice was unusually quiet.
“Because if the original equipment records are opened, people are going to start asking questions your mother won’t want to answer.”
I turned toward Tanya.
Her face was pale.
“Mom?”
She stared at Holloway.
“Don’t you dare.”
My chest tightened.
“What is he talking about?”
My mother didn’t answer.
Holloway looked directly at her.
“You should have told him about Anthony.”
The name struck me.
Anthony Brooks.
My father.
The man who had died when I was seven.
The man whose old baseball glove I kept beneath my bed.
The man my mother rarely discussed without crying.
I looked at Holloway.
“What does my dad have to do with this?”
The coach stepped backward.
Raymond turned toward my mother.
“Tanya?”
She covered her mouth.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Holloway reached into his pocket and removed a folded letter.
He held it toward Raymond.
“Ask her why Anthony Brooks was banned from this complex twelve years ago.”
I stared at the paper.
My father had been banned from Weston?
My mother began shaking.
Raymond took the letter.
His expression changed as he read.
Then he looked toward me.
“DeShawn, did your father ever tell you he worked here?”
I shook my head.
“No, sir.”
Raymond looked at Tanya.
Her eyes filled with tears.
I felt the room spinning.
The hidden marker.
The radar gun.
The equipment test.
The number 101.
And now my father’s name.
Everything seemed connected by something nobody wanted to explain.
“Mom?”
She looked at me.
“Baby, I wanted to protect you.”
My throat tightened.
“From what?”
She reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“From what, Mom?”
Tears ran down her face.
Then she whispered something that changed the meaning of the entire day.
“Your father was the last person who tried to expose what they were doing to young pitchers at Weston.”
Raymond looked toward Holloway.
The coach stared at the floor.
My mother continued.
“And the reason he was banned is the same reason they never wanted you to complete this tryout.”
I felt my knees weaken.
Then Daniel slowly turned the computer screen toward us.
He had opened the oldest attached record in the equipment archive.
The date was twelve years earlier.
The file contained a photograph of Field Three.
A shortened pitching marker appeared beside the regulation rubber.
And standing next to it was my father.
Anthony Brooks.
Beneath the photograph was a handwritten instruction.
Raymond leaned closer.
