Chapter 5 - The Screen Can’t See Tomorrow
Victor Kane watched the livestream from the top floor of Kane Outdoor Systems headquarters in Chicago.
He did not throw anything when Marcus lost.
Victor had built his reputation on never displaying anger before other people. He was sixty-two, silver-haired, lean, and perfectly tailored. His office walls held photographs of charity tournaments, governors, professional athletes, and wounded veterans receiving donated fishing equipment.
The public knew him as a generous businessman who loved the outdoors.
People who worked for him knew better.
Doyle Mercer stood across the desk.
“Marcus refused the money,” Doyle said.
“I know.”
“He may talk.”
“He already did.” Victor turned his tablet around. A clip of Marcus whispering to Eli had been captured from a spectator angle, but there was no audio. “The question is whether anyone can prove what he said.”
Doyle waited.
Victor tapped the screen where Eli stood smiling beside Ryan.
“For twenty-five years, that man understood the arrangement.”
“He had nothing.”
“He still has nothing.”
“No,” Doyle said carefully. “Now he has an audience.”
Victor’s eyes lifted.
Doyle immediately regretted speaking.
Victor rose and walked to the window.
“Do you know why most fishermen fail under pressure?”
Doyle said nothing.
“They confuse activity with progress. They change lures, change locations, run twenty miles, stare at screens, burn fuel. Movement comforts stupid men.” Victor turned. “We will not move without purpose.”
“What’s the purpose?”
“Separate Carter from Cole.”
Ryan learned the cost of that plan three days later.
Kane Outdoor Systems terminated his sponsorship.
The email arrived at 7:12 a.m.
Brooke Vance arrived at his apartment at 7:34.
“What did you do?” she shouted before the door fully opened.
Ryan held up the phone. “Apparently I damaged brand alignment.”
“You challenged Victor publicly?”
“I didn’t say his name.”
“You posted Marcus talking about a bribery attempt!”
“I posted what happened.”
Brooke paced across the living room. “Your truck deal is tied to Kane. Your boat discount is tied to Kane. Half your event appearances come through Kane distributors.”
“Then I guess I’m going to learn how expensive honesty is.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
Brooke stopped. “Ryan, you are finally top ten in points. You have a real shot at the Masters. Don’t burn your career for an old man you met nine days ago.”
Ryan looked at a freeze-frame on his television: Eli kneeling beside twelve-year-old Caleb, showing him how to tie a Palomar knot.
“What if they burned his career for the same reason?”
Brooke stared at him.
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But Victor does.”
By afternoon, Ryan had lost two more sponsors.
By evening, anonymous accounts began posting old articles calling Eli a cheater.
The next morning, someone spray-painted FRAUD across the wall behind Marnie’s bait shop.
Eli found Marnie scrubbing it with a wire brush.
“Stop,” he said.
“I can get it off.”
“You’ll take the paint with it.”
“Then I’ll repaint the wall.”
Eli took the brush from her.
“This is my problem.”
Marnie’s eyes flashed. “You said that twenty-five years ago.”
Eli froze.
“And look where that got you.”
Ryan arrived halfway through the argument.
Marnie pointed at Eli. “Tell him.”
Eli’s jaw tightened.
“Tell me what?” Ryan asked.
Marnie looked between them.
Then her anger collapsed into fear.
“Nothing.”
Eli walked away.
Ryan followed him toward the old marina.
“You keep saying not to set the hook too early,” Ryan said. “Fine. I’ve felt the weight now.”
Eli kept walking.
“Victor is paying people to beat you. He’s pulling my sponsors. Someone vandalized Marnie’s store. What else do I need to feel?”
Eli stopped beside an abandoned fish-cleaning station.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“The truth doesn’t make you brave. It gives you something expensive to lose.”
“I’m already losing things.”
“You’re losing logos.” Eli turned on him. “I lost my son.”
Ryan went silent.
Eli’s face trembled once before becoming stone again.
“My boy Mason worked docks during college. Good kid. Better than me. He saw something before the Grand American in 2001. Fish trucks. Tagged bass. Men moving them into a closed competition zone at night.”
Ryan felt cold.
“Victor?”
“Victor’s people. Sponsors. An official. There was gambling money around the event—private pools, side bets, people who knew which areas had been loaded with quality fish.”
“You reported it?”
“I confronted Victor.”
“What happened?”
“He told me Mason had signed gate logs. Told me he could make it look like my son organized everything. Then illegal scent was found in my boat.”
Ryan whispered, “Planted.”
Eli laughed without humor. “Does it matter what I say now?”
“Yes.”
“It didn’t then.”
“So you accepted the disqualification.”
“I signed a statement taking responsibility for unauthorized access. They left Mason alone.”
Ryan stared at him. “And your son knew?”
“No.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I cheated.”
Ryan’s breath caught.
“Why?”
“Because he would’ve tried to save me.” Eli’s eyes were wet now. “And Victor knew it.”
“What happened to Mason?”
“Five years later, drunk driver crossed the center line.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Sorry is another word people use when the dead don’t come back.”
Ryan did not know what to say.
Eli looked toward the lake.
“I sold everything after my wife got sick. House. Boat. Medals. Then she died too. After that, places with walls felt wrong.”
For a long time they listened to water tapping against old pilings.
Ryan finally asked, “Is there proof?”
“There was a videotape.”
“Where?”
“Mason gave it to somebody before I could stop him.”
“Who?”
Eli looked at Ryan.
And for the first time, Ryan saw fear in him.
“Your father.”
Ryan started to ask another question, but Eli raised a hand. “Tomorrow, before you chase ghosts, bring three rods.”
“What for?”
“One medium-heavy baitcaster, one medium spinning rod, one jerkbait rod. We’ll work line angle.”
Ryan frowned. “Line angle?”
“People obsess over lure choice and forget geometry. A bait pulled uphill behaves differently than one crawling downhill. A crankbait crossing a point at forty-five degrees may strike rock longer than one coming straight back. A jig pulled with current feels lighter than one pulled against it. Same lure. Different truth.”
Ryan looked toward the lake.
“You really think fishing can explain everything.”
May you like
“No.” Eli started walking. “Just most things worth arguing about.”
Ryan watched him go, then looked back at the old photograph on his phone. The legendary young angler and the homeless old man were finally becoming the same person in his mind.
