Chapter 8: What Marcus Webb Had Been Carrying
The corridor beneath the bleachers smelled like old concrete and popcorn.
Marcus Webb and Danny Cho were waiting on a pair of folding chairs someone had set out near a support pillar.
On a small table between them sat a manila folder, a laptop open to a spreadsheet, and two cans of soda that had gone warm.
Danny Cho was still on his phone when they arrived.
He looked at Cole, gave a short nod, and said into the phone, "He's here.
Yes.
Proceed." Then he ended the call.
"Proceed with what?" Cole asked.
Marcus opened the laptop.
"Three hours ago, before this event started, our organization filed a formal records request with the league's historical administration office." He turned the screen toward Cole.
"We've been looking into registration irregularities in Bellhaven County youth baseball programs for about eight months.
Southside Falcons was the fourth team on our list."
Cole read the screen.
Coach Carter read it over his shoulder.
"Four teams," she said.
"Four rejected registrations in three years."
"All processed through the same administrative contact," Marcus said.
"All teams from lower-income districts.
All rejections citing procedural reasons that don't hold up under examination."
"Gerald Pruitt," Cole said.
"Gerald Pruitt's signature appears on two of the four," Marcus said carefully.
"The other two were processed by members of his committee.
Whether that constitutes a coordinated pattern or a series of individual errors is ultimately a legal determination." He looked at Cole directly.
"But the pattern exists.
And now it's documented."
Cole sat in one of the extra chairs that Tariq pulled over without being asked.
He rested his forearms on his knees and stared at the concrete floor.
"I've been connected to this man for three years," Cole said.
"Yes," Marcus said.
"My programs.
My foundation."
"Yes."
Cole rubbed his face.
"What kind of exposure does that create?"
"That depends entirely on what you do next," Marcus said.
"And how quickly."
Danny Cho set his phone on the table face-up.
"The sports news aggregator that picked up the video — they have a correspondent covering this event in person.
She's been here since noon." He looked at Cole.
"She's waiting to know if Cole Barrett wants to make a statement or if she should go with what she has."
Tariq was sitting on an overturned equipment crate near the wall, Raymond beside him.
Neither of them had spoken since they sat down.
Tariq was watching Cole the way you watch someone who is standing at a door deciding whether to go through it.
Cole looked at the boy.
"What would your grandfather have said?" Cole asked him.
"Right now.
In this room."
Tariq thought about it.
Really thought, not just reaching for the first thing.
"He would have said the truth is the only pitch that never loses its movement," Tariq answered.
"He said that about a lot of things.
Not just baseball."
Something crossed Cole's face that might have been the closest thing to a smile he could manage in that moment.
He stood up.
"Tell the correspondent I'll speak to her," Cole said to Danny.
"Outside.
By the field.
I want the banner in the background." He looked at Marcus.
"And I want your documentation on Pruitt ready to share with whoever is responsible for league governance review.
Full disclosure.
Today."
Marcus closed the laptop and picked up the folder.
"Already printed."
Cole looked at Coach Carter.
"Denise." First name.
He hadn't used it before.
"I'd like your team on the field when I make the statement.
If that's all right with you."
Coach Carter looked at her players, visible through the chain-link gate — twelve boys in faded navy uniforms sitting in the grass, waiting, not knowing yet that anything had changed.
"Give me two minutes," she said.
She walked out to the field.
Her players stood when they saw her coming, the automatic response of boys who had been coached to respect the moment.
She gathered them around her in a loose circle.
"Something happened today that none of you caused and all of you earned a part of," she said.
"Stand straight.
Don't perform anything.
Just be exactly who you are." She looked at each of them.
"That's always been enough.
It just took the right moment for other people to see it."
The boy in sweatpants — his name was DeShawn, twelve years old, the youngest on the team — raised his hand slightly.
"Are we getting the field back, Coach?"
"Yes," she said.
"We're getting the field back."
DeShawn pressed his lips together and looked at the ground and nodded very hard.
They walked out to the field together, all twelve of them plus Coach Carter, Tariq falling back into place beside his teammates without anyone having to say anything.
The correspondent was already set up near the first-base line — a woman in her forties with a camera operator beside her and a recorder in her hand.
Cole walked out from the corridor.
Gerald Pruitt appeared from the direction of the tent, moving fast.
"Cole.
We need to talk before you say anything to anyone."
"We're done talking, Gerald," Cole said.
He didn't slow his stride.
"Danny Cho is going to hand you a copy of some documentation in about five minutes.
I'd suggest you read it before you call your attorney." He paused just long enough.
"Actually — call your attorney first."
Pruitt stopped.
The documentation in Danny's hands.
Cole publicly walking away.
The correspondent's camera already rolling.
He took one step forward.
"You don't understand what you're—"
"Gerald." Cole turned and faced him fully.
The afternoon sun was behind Cole.
Pruitt was squinting into it.
"My father spent the last decade of his life trying to correct something.
I didn't understand what it was until today." He held the eye contact for exactly one beat.
"I'm not going to need another decade."
Pruitt looked at the camera.
The camera looked back.
He walked back toward the tent alone.
Cole turned to the correspondent.
"My name is Cole Barrett.
I have a statement and then I'll take a few questions."
He talked for eleven minutes.
He named the check amount.
He named the registration irregularities.
He named his intention to sever ties with Pruitt's organization and submit a formal request for league governance review.
He talked about Isaiah Mason — not by name at first, but by description.
A pitcher whose recommendation was buried before he ever got the chance to be seen.
Then he looked at Tariq, standing with his team.
"That pitcher's grandson threw a pitch today that I could not hit," Cole said.
"I have faced major league pitching for fourteen years.
That was one of the most extraordinary things I have ever seen on a baseball field." He paused.
"And the only reason any of us almost missed it is because some people decided a long time ago that certain kids don't belong in certain spaces." He looked back at the correspondent.
"That ends today.
For Southside.
And for the other three teams we're going to talk about next."
The camera operator zoomed out.
May you like
The Southside Falcons, twelve boys in faded navy uniforms, stood in the afternoon light on a field that had never been theirs.
But they stood like it was.
