I love this little town. In another life, I would have graduated from high school and headed straight here for college. I would have gone to every sporting event and play and art showing. Breaks between classes would have been spent in the quad, where I’d complain with fellow students on the unfairness of how our professor graded our last exam.
But I’m not living that life.
I was only in that airport hotel in Raleigh for a day before there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find a guy in a UPS uniform standing on the other side. But upon closer inspection, I realized it was the same guy who delivered my last set of instructions from Matt.
“You’re George,” I said.
He looked confused. “I’m sorry, who?” he asked.
I pointed to the space on my tee where a name tag would be if I had one. “George. It was the name on your uniform at the hotel in Hilton Head.” He seemed surprised I would remember that. “But I’m guessing that’s not your real name.”
He handed me a plain brown package without any address or shipping label and said, “No, it’s not.” I’m sure he’s not supposed to be talking to me, just delivering things.
“Are you going to tell me your real name or do I just keep calling you George?”
He shrugged. “George works, I guess.”
“Okay, George it is.” He started to step away, but he stopped when I asked, “You coming to Florida with me? Or do you have other deliveries to make?”
Another shrug. “You’ll have to wait and see.” And then he was gone.
Ripping the package open, I found a Florida driver’s license in the name of Wendy Wallace, along with a slip of paper listing the address of a shipping and container store, including the mailbox number, and the name of an apartment complex and unit number. There were also two keys on a keychain, one key much bigger than the other. And lastly, there was a picture of a man in his mid-to-late thirties. On the back of the picture was his name, Mitch Cameron, and “Get to know everything about him” written underneath it.
I found Mitch Cameron immediately. Everyone knows Mitch Cameron, since he’s the head football coach for a college in Central Florida. He is loved and hated in equal parts.
Mitch is thirty-seven years old and has been married to Mindy for the last ten years. Mitch and Mindy. How adorable. Mitch is also the father of two young kids, a boy named Mitch Jr. and a girl named Matilda.
This family is brought to you by the letter M.
It only took four days for me to learn everything about Mitch and what his daily life looked like, although I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why a college football coach was the mark. I’m never told who the client is, but I’m anxious to find out what’s going on with Mitch that necessitated hiring Mr. Smith.
Every day this week, I’ve ridden my bike to the practice field so I can watch him at work. Today, I’ve spread a blanket out, surrounded myself with textbooks just like the half dozen other students studying outside on a fall afternoon, the Florida sun turning my skin a gorgeous tan. I’ve never spent so much time outdoors.
Mitch seems well liked by his players. He’s tough on them but he’s also encouraging and not afraid to tell them when they’ve worked hard. Just like every day, when practice ends and Mitch sends the players to the showers, I pack up and head to the package center to check the mailbox. It’s been empty every time I’ve checked so far, but today I’m feeling lucky.
A little shriek of excitement slips out when I see the small envelope inside. Finally! I slide it in the waistband of my shorts and pull my shirt over it, leaving the store as quickly as possible.
I don’t open it until I’ve reached the safety of my apartment.
There is a single piece of paper inside that lists five names with a date and time next to each one.
I only need to google two names before I see a pattern. Every person on this list is a high school senior who lives within a sixty-mile radius of the university and has had an amazing football career so far. And there is speculation about where all of them will end up playing next fall.
At first, this seems ridiculous to me. Why am I here? To monitor some football coach and a handful of eighteen-year-old boys?
I deep-dive into high school and college football. I realize the millions and millions of dollars that universities make on the backs of these players before they go pro. If they’re lucky enough to go pro.
It is a big business.
There’s also a lot of talk about players getting paid under the table to pick one college over another—stories of bagmen dropping off cash late at night and communicating by burner phone, and even more mind-blowing are the college boosters, aka old people, who spend big money in the hopes that their alma mater might possibly win a championship. They throw cash at programs and expect results. And if they don’t get them, the money stops. There’s a real question as to who is actually running these programs: the school’s athletic director or the wealthy few writing the checks. All you need to do is google “T. Boone Pickens” and “Oklahoma State University” to get the general idea.
There is a big push to change the rules and allow college athletes to profit off their name and likeness. In fact, most people in the industry believe the NCAA will allow student athletes to accept endorsements as early as 2020 or 2021, but for now, it is strictly forbidden. If caught paying players, schools are fined huge sums and could even lose opportunities to go to bowl games at the end of their season, which kills their recruiting efforts. But the worst penalty is to the athlete. They lose their eligibility to play. Anywhere.
The last few jobs, I’ve used this time in the lull between getting information but still waiting for exact instructions to guess what the client has hired us to do.
Since the prospective players’ names were given to me, I’m guessing they play into this somehow. Is Mitch a dirty recruiter? Is the client a rival school who wants Mitch’s program in trouble?
I concentrate on the dates and names. I map out where each player lives, I learn their stats, I scour their social media.
Five names. Five dates. The first takes place in one week. I’m going to need some tech and help installing it, so I follow the steps Devon has set up and ask him to come to Florida.
* * *
I planned to watch Mitch Cameron court these players, but I didn’t anticipate I would also catch coaches from other schools visiting them too. These guys are the best of the best from this area and everyone wants them. While the university Mitch coaches for is a good one, there are a couple of bigger and better ones not far from here, so the competition is strong.
It was easier than I thought it would be for us to get in each player’s home to set up once Devon arrived with the equipment we needed. All their houses are in poor neighborhoods with little to no security in place. It’s hard to ignore how much money is at stake for colleges with a winning season, yet these boys aren’t even supposed to get their dinner paid for by anyone associated with the school. It doesn’t seem fair.
A week into spying on these guys, there’s another note in the mailbox.
All recordings, videos, and images of the subjects from the previous list that document meetings, conversations, or discussions (even discussions between family members) regarding any football program should be turned in. A courier will arrive at your apartment every night at 10 pm for pickup. Do not leave it in the mailbox.