Chapter 3 - The Fish That Broke the Internet
The internet found Eli’s past before Ryan did.
Old tournament results appeared first. Then magazine covers. Then archived photographs of Eli standing beside boats in bright jerseys, younger but unmistakable: same pale eyes, same crooked left eyebrow, same habit of holding fish low and carefully instead of thrusting them toward the camera.
The nickname appeared everywhere.
THE LAKE KING.
Three national titles.
Twenty-seven major wins.
A record for consecutive top-ten finishes that had stood for eleven years.
Then, in 2001, everything stopped.
Ryan sat in Marnie Miller’s bait shop with a laptop open between jars of pork rind and old spinnerbaits.
“Here,” Tyler said, scrolling. “This article says he was disqualified from the Grand American Championship.”
“Reason?”
“Illegal bait additive and pre-tournament access to restricted water.”
Marnie, sixty-three and built like she could lift a boat motor by herself, snorted from behind the counter.
“That was garbage.”
Ryan looked up. “You knew him?”
“I knew everybody who mattered around here.”
“What happened?”
Marnie’s face hardened. “Ask Eli.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He told me to stop asking.”
“Smart man.”
Ryan leaned back. “Twenty-five years later and people are still scared to talk?”
Marnie set down a box of hooks. “Some people don’t need you scared forever. They just need everybody else to remember what happened the last time somebody spoke.”
Before Ryan could ask what she meant, the bell over the door rang.
Eli entered carrying a plastic grocery sack.
He saw the laptop screen.
His expression changed.
Not much. A slight tightening around the mouth.
But Ryan noticed.
“Turn it off.”
“Eli—”
“Turn it off.”
Ryan closed the laptop.
Tyler raised both hands. “We didn’t post anything.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Eli placed the grocery bag on the counter. Inside were bread, peanut butter, canned beans, and a bag of apples.
Marnie quietly pushed the bag back toward him. “Keep your money.”
“I’ve got money.”
“Ryan’s ten grand?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Travis paid the five.”
Ryan stared. “You took his money but not mine?”
“He made the bet after the cameras came. You made yours because of them.”
Ryan almost argued, then decided he understood.
Outside, tires crunched on gravel.
A black SUV stopped beside the shop.
Two men stepped out in clean jackets and expensive shoes that did not belong near a muddy boat ramp.
Marnie went pale.
Eli did not move.
The taller man entered.
“Mr. Carter.”
Eli’s voice was flat. “Doyle.”
Ryan looked between them.
“You two know each other?”
The man smiled without warmth. “My employer would like a private conversation.”
“Your employer had twenty-five years.”
“He didn’t have twenty-three million viewers.”
Silence filled the shop.
Ryan slowly stood.
“Who’s your employer?”
Doyle glanced at him. “You already cash his checks.”
That landed hard.
Ryan’s main sponsor was Kane Outdoor Systems, one of the largest fishing companies in America.
Victor Kane appeared in commercials, tournament broadcasts, business magazines, and charity events. He owned lure brands, electronics partnerships, boat dealerships, and a controlling interest in the circuit Ryan hoped to dominate.
Ryan looked at Eli.
“Victor Kane?”
Eli stared at Doyle.
“Tell Victor I’m still dead.”
Doyle smiled. “The internet disagrees.”
He left a white envelope on the counter and walked out.
Nobody spoke until the SUV disappeared.
Ryan reached for the envelope.
Eli slapped his hand away.
“Don’t.”
“What is it?”
“A leash.”
Eli tore it open himself.
Inside was a cashier’s check for fifty thousand dollars and one typed sentence.
FOR YOUR PRIVACY.
Ryan whispered, “He’s paying you to disappear.”
Eli ripped the check in half.
Then in half again.
Marnie closed her eyes.
“Eli,” she said, “you need to leave town.”
“No.”
“Last time—”
“Last time I had a son.”
The room went still.
Ryan leaned forward. “What does that mean?”
Eli picked up his groceries.
“It means you should enjoy being famous while it’s still cheap.”
He walked out.
Ryan followed him to the lakeshore.
“Stop.”
Eli kept walking.
“Victor Kane destroyed you, didn’t he?”
No answer.
“What did he do?”
Eli turned so suddenly Ryan nearly collided with him.
“You want fishing lessons? Fine. Here’s one. Never set a hook just because you feel something. Sometimes a fish bumps the lure. Sometimes it’s grass. Sometimes it’s a branch. Feel the weight before you commit.”
“What does that have to do with Victor?”
“Everything.”
Ryan lowered his voice. “I’m not asking as a content creator.”
“What are you asking as?”
Ryan had no answer.
Eli walked to the water.
“Bring one spinning rod tomorrow,” he said.
Ryan blinked. “That’s it?”
“Seven-foot medium-light. Ten-pound braid. Eight-pound fluorocarbon leader.”
“You’re teaching me?”
“I’m giving you a chance to stop asking stupid questions for one morning.”
At dawn, they met on a small public dock.
Eli tied a Neko rig: a straight worm hooked through the middle with a small weight inserted into one end. When worked correctly, the weighted end stayed down while the rest of the worm stood and quivered.
“Cast past the piling,” Eli said.
Ryan did.
“Too hard.”
“It got there.”
“So does a brick.”
Ryan sighed.
Eli showed him how to feather the line, let the bait enter softly, and watch slack for the faintest movement.
“Pressure makes fish suspicious,” Eli said. “Everybody wants to make them react. Sometimes you make them comfortable.”
Ryan tried again.
Better.
On the third cast, his line jumped.
He set the hook and landed a small bass.
Eli nodded once.
Ryan smiled like a kid.
“Again,” Eli said.
For two hours they fished without cameras.
Eli explained how a jerkbait could be deadly in cold or clear water when paused long enough; how a crankbait deflected off rock or wood could trigger a strike; how a spinnerbait excelled in wind and stained water; how a frog could cross matted vegetation where exposed hooks would foul; how a Texas rig could penetrate cover quietly; how BFS—bait finesse—allowed anglers to cast tiny lures with specialized baitcasting gear, blending casting control with finesse presentations.
“You know all the new stuff,” Ryan said.
Eli snorted. “Fish don’t know what year it is.”
“So why learn it?”
“Because fishermen change. Pressure changes. Boats change. Water changes. If you stop learning because you were once good, you become a story old men tell.”
Ryan stared at him.
“Is that what happened to you?”
Eli’s face closed again.
Before he could answer, a boy of about twelve appeared on shore holding a department-store rod with electrical tape around the handle.
“Mr. Carter?”
Eli looked surprised.
The boy swallowed nervously. “My dad says you’re a cheater.”
Ryan stiffened.
The boy continued, “But I think my dad’s wrong. Can you show me how to catch one?”
Eli looked at the boy’s battered rod.
Then he smiled.
“What’s your name?”
“Caleb.”
“You got a hook, Caleb?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we’ve got enough.”
Ryan watched Eli kneel beside the boy and realized something that made his stomach twist.
Victor Kane was afraid of Eli becoming famous again.
May you like
But maybe not because of what Eli could prove.
Maybe because people were starting to believe him before he said a word.
