Gavin looked at her. “Then we don’t quit. We clean this up. We rebuild. We keep going.” “Even if nobody else shows up?” “Even if nobody else shows up.” They sat there together as the sun disappeared and the streetlights flickered on. The field looked even worse in the artificial light. Like a crime scene. Like something that had died. But it wasn’t dead yet. And neither were they.
Across the street, sitting in his Honda with the lights off, Devin Harris watched them. His jaw was tight. His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. His phone buzzed. A text.
Job well done. Payment in your account. Phase three next week.
Devin stared at the message. At Skye and Gavin sitting on that bench. At the destroyed field he’d helped map out for the vandals. His hands started shaking. He’d needed the money. Owed the wrong people. Had no choice. But looking at that little girl’s face right now… he was starting to realize that maybe some choices were worse than others. Maybe some debts weren’t worth paying. His phone buzzed again.
You getting cold feet?
Devin closed his eyes. Took a breath. Then he typed back.
No. I’m good. Just tell me what’s next.
He hit send. And hated himself a little more.
Forty blocks uptown, in an office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city, Councilman Alan Pierce sat behind his mahogany desk reading the morning news on his tablet. A thin, satisfied smile spread across his face. “Community field destroyed in overnight attack.” Perfect.
Alan Pierce was fifty-two years old. Silver hair. Expensive suits. A smile that made people trust him even when they shouldn’t. He’d been on the city council for twelve years, and in those twelve years, he’d mastered one important skill: making problems disappear. And right now, Gavin Parker’s little charity project was a problem. Pierce had plans for the South Side. Big plans. A development deal worth forty million dollars. Luxury condos. High-end shops. The kind of place that would triple property values and push out everyone who currently lived there. But he needed that land. The exact land where the field now sat. He’d been trying to buy it for three years. Made offers. Applied pressure. Called in favors. But the city had refused to sell, citing “community interest.” Then Gavin Parker showed up and turned it into some feel-good story about helping poor kids. The news coverage was everywhere. The mayor loved it. The public ate it up. And Pierce’s development deal? Dead in the water. Unless the field went away.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Phase one complete. Minimal resistance. Ready for phase two.
Pierce typed back.
Good. Increase pressure. I want that land abandoned within two weeks.
Three dots. Then.
What if Parker doesn’t quit?
Pierce’s smile turned cold.
Then we make him.
He deleted the conversation and set his phone down. On his wall hung photos of him with the mayor, the governor, senators. Ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Charity galas. Award presentations. The face of a man who cared about his community. But the truth? Alan Pierce didn’t care about communities. He cared about money. Power. Legacy. And some little girl with a baseball wasn’t going to ruin that.
Meanwhile, across town in a cramped studio apartment, Devin Harris sat on the edge of his bed staring at his bank account on his phone. Ten thousand dollars. Just deposited that morning. More money than he’d seen in six months. Enough to pay off the loan sharks who’d been threatening to break his legs. Enough to catch up on rent. Enough to breathe. But it felt like blood money.
His other phone, his real phone, buzzed. A text from Coach Marcus. Practice canceled this week. Gonna focus on cleanup. You available to help Thursday? Devin stared at the message. Thought about Skye’s face yesterday when she saw the destroyed field. Thought about the other kids who’d looked so excited to finally have something good. He’d helped destroy that. He’d taken Pierce’s money, drawn a map of the field’s layout, pointed out where security was weakest, even called the guard and told him he had a family emergency so he wouldn’t show up that night. All for ten thousand dollars. Devin typed back. Yeah, I can help. Let me know what time. He hit send and immediately felt sick.
His roommate, Carlos, walked out of the bathroom. “Yo, you good? You look like you’re gonna throw up.” “I’m fine,” Devin lied. “That baseball gig working out?” “Yeah. It’s good.” Carlos grabbed a soda from the fridge. “That’s cool, man. You been different lately. Like, happier or whatever. Those kids must really like you.” Devin’s chest tightened. “Yeah. They do.”
After Carlos left for work, Devin sat alone in the silence. His phone buzzed again. The burner this time.
Phase two, next Monday. Create distraction during practice. Door to equipment shed needs to be left unlocked. Confirm receipt.
Devin stared at the message for a long time. Phase two. More destruction. More pain. More lies. And he was right in the middle of it. His finger hovered over the keyboard. He could say no. Could refuse. Could come clean to Gavin and Skye and face whatever consequences came. But then he’d still owe the loan sharks. Still face eviction. Still be exactly where he was before Pierce’s money saved him. He typed. Confirmed. And hated himself more than he thought possible.
Back at the field, Gavin had called an emergency meeting. About fifteen people showed up. Parents, volunteers, Coach Marcus, and Skye with her grandmother. They gathered in a circle near the damaged dugout. The air smelled of chemicals and disappointment. “I want to be straight with you,” Gavin began. “What happened here wasn’t random. This was targeted. Someone doesn’t want this field to exist.” “Who?” asked Mr. Chen from the corner store. “I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out.” Gavin’s voice was hard. Determined. “And when I do, they’re going to regret it.”
“What if they come back?” a mother asked nervously. “What if next time they come when the kids are here?” Silence fell heavy. “Then we protect the kids,” Coach Marcus said firmly. “Better security. Cameras. Locks on everything.” “That costs money,” someone pointed out. “I’ll pay for it,” Gavin said immediately. “Whatever it takes.”
Evelyn spoke up. “Money ain’t the problem. Fear is. These people, whoever they are, they want us scared. Want us to give up and go away.” “So what do we do?” Skye asked quietly. Evelyn looked at her granddaughter. “We don’t give them what they want.” “But how?” Skye pressed. “Half the kids are gone. The field’s destroyed. Everyone’s scared.” “Then we show them there’s something stronger than fear,” Gavin said. “We show them community. Courage. Refusal to quit.”
“Pretty words,” Mr. Chen said skeptically. “But pretty words don’t stop vandals.” “No,” Gavin agreed. “But cameras do. And security does. And police pressure does. I’ve already hired a private security firm. 24-hour surveillance starts tomorrow. I’ve contacted every news station in the city. I’ve reached out to the mayor’s office demanding a full investigation.” He looked around the circle. “I’m not letting this go. And I’m asking you not to let it go either.” Slowly, heads started nodding. Not everyone. But some. “We’ll give it one more week,” one father said. “But if anything else happens—” “If anything else happens,” Gavin interrupted, “I’ll personally guarantee every child safety. You have my word.”
After the meeting broke up, Skye stayed behind with Gavin and Coach Marcus. “You really think you can stop them?” she asked. “I don’t know,” Gavin admitted. “But I’m going to try.” Devin walked over then, hands in his pockets. “Need any help cleaning up? I got time.” “That’d be great,” Marcus said. “Grab a shovel.” As Devin walked away to get equipment, Skye watched him go. Something felt off. She couldn’t explain it. Just a feeling in her gut. “You trust him?” she asked quietly. “Devin?” Gavin looked surprised. “Yeah, why?” “I don’t know. Just asking.”…
