Chapter 5 - Cliff Came to Save Renee Again
Dad showed up at Harlo Performance Monday morning.
Unannounced.
Dominique met him in reception.
“She’s with an athlete.”
“I’m her father.”
Dominique smiled pleasantly.
“Congratulations.”
I heard about that later.
When I finished the session, Cliff was waiting.
“You need to fix this.”
“What?”
“The scholarship.”
“I cannot fix a document I didn’t sign.”
“Renee said it was just a final verification.”
“She copied my signature.”
“She was trying to keep the process moving.”
“That is called signing my name without permission.”
Dad sighed.
“You always use the most dramatic words.”
I stared at him.
“Forgery?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Neither did I.”
That stopped him.
I had deliberately avoided assigning criminal terminology before lawyers or the academy completed review.
Dad was already defending against a word I hadn’t used.
“How much did you know?”
His face changed.
“About what?”
“The form.”
“Nothing.”
“The bike?”
“I told you. Renee asked.”
“Why did you say yes?”
“Because Sasha is seventeen.”
“And?”
“She knows how to ride things.”
“She had never ridden Jude’s motorcycle.”
Dad shrugged.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“What did Renee say she wanted it for?”
He hesitated.
There.
“Dad.”
“She said Sasha needed new recruitment content.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“So you knew.”
“I knew they were making a video.”
“And you gave them Jude’s property.”
“He wasn’t using it that day.”
That sentence explained my childhood.
Need determined ownership.
Renee needed.
Therefore Renee received.
Marin could manage without.
Therefore Marin gave.
Jude inherited my position.
Dad continued:
“This scholarship could change Sasha’s life.”
“And Jude’s three years?”
“Marin.”
“No. Answer.”
“It’s not comparable.”
“Why?”
“A bike is replaceable.”
I looked directly at him.
“So is money.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Write Jude a check for $2,200.”
“That’s Renee’s responsibility.”
I almost laughed.
The moment replacement cost belonged to him, the bike stopped being replaceable.
“Exactly.”
I opened my office door.
“We’re done.”
He did not move.
“You will regret choosing this hill.”
“No.”
May you like
I looked through the glass at athletes running resisted sprints across turf I had once installed myself at midnight.
“I regret how many hills I let you convince me weren’t worth standing on.”
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