Page 138 of Bad Prince
“Stanford’s treating you well?”
“Yes.”
“Team?”
“Solid.”
He nods once.
“Good.”
We stop near the baseline.
He surveys the gym like he’s evaluating a property.
“When you left Harvard,” he says calmly, “we agreed it would be to build something.”
“I remember.”
“I don’t mean social media buzz.”
There it is.
Straight.
Direct.
“I’m not chasing headlines,” I reply.
“No?”
His eyes study me carefully.
“Because from where I’m standing, you’re circling distraction.”
My jaw tightens.
“It’s not like that.”
“It never is,” he says.
A beat passes.
He softens slightly — or at least what passes for soft with him.
“You’re talented,” he says. “Disciplined. Focused. That’s why we supported the transfer.”
Supported? More like negotiated—strategically endorsed.
“You want Final Four?” he continues. “You want draft position?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t get entangled.”
The word hangs between us.
Entangled.
