The Littlest Giant

Part 3

TEN

The next day, Rory wheeled his chair back and forth across the courtyard in front of the south entrance of Vivint Arena, the home of the Utah Jazz. The cement courtyard was protected from a stiff, cold wind by a grove of trees planted in a checkerboard pattern.

A paranoid feeling of being watched crept up Rory's spine. Spinning his chair in the opposite direction, he thought he saw someone he recognized duck into the sparse crowd. Surely his father hadn't time to actually get boots on the ground in Salt Lake City. Rory dismissed the thought.

He hadn't gotten enough sleep since learning of how royally he had screwed everything up the night before. He had to get this train wreck back on the tracks, or he would lose Janessa and Silas, along with his best hopes of ever climbing again. He was too close to let that happen.

An hour earlier Rory had texted his father a simple message, "Two can play at this game." He knew his father would track his location. The implication would come across loud and clear—back off of Dr. Morgan, or I'll take the technology to your nearest geographical rival, the Utah Jazz. This was the only sort of conversation Rory's father understood, dog-eat-dog, survival of the fittest. The elder Wilder had pounded the lesson into Rory since his youth; Never open your mouth unless you've got leverage you're willing to use.

Rory also knew his current leverage would never be enough. But if he could take advantage of his father's innate sense of superiority—

Rory's watch vibrated with an incoming call. Right on time. He tapped his earpiece to accept it. "Dad, nice of you to return my message."

"I thought I raised you to be smarter than this."

Rory loved that his father took all of his son's failures as personal insults. He casually wheeled his chair in a figure eight pattern around two of the young trees that contributed to the urban grove in the midst of the concrete courtyard. "You taught me to latch on and never let go, like a pit bull, remember?"

"That only works if you've bitten a vital area, like the jugular. Right now you're hanging from my pinky. I can just as well flick it off and grow another."

Rory paused to keep a level temper. He needed to bait his father, not the other way around. "I've been working Dr. Morgan for months, almost a year now. You don't understand her. You'll screw this up, trust me."

"Trust you? After using family money behind my back? I'm not sure what's more disappointing, that you tried to cut me out, or that you thought I wouldn't see right through it."

Rory clenched his jaw. If his father was determined to berate him, make him feel out of his depth, so be it. Rory needed his father to let down his guard, so he opened the door wide. "Maybe I wanted you to."

The elder Wilder snorted. "You know what I think?"

"No Dad, why don't you tell me."

"I think you lost your spine when you broke your back."

Rory rolled his eyes. "This oughtta be good." He stopped in the middle of a figure eight and reversed course for no particular reason. Again, Rory thought he saw someone duck behind a tree a few removed from the ones he had been circling.

His father's voice jerked his attention back to the conversation at hand. "Listen to me, son. You've found a talented scientist with a promising technology. You've always had an eye for talent. Now back off and let me take over. Not everyone is meant to be a closer."

Rory swore and pounded his leg with his fist. A twinge of pain surprised him and focused his resolve. "See, that's exactly what I mean. You don't respect me, Dad."