Wolfram & Hart; October 1, 2003
“At which point, we should be able to isolate the leadership and take them down.”
Lorne was the first to register that Wesley had finished talking. He discretely kicked Angel under the table. Angel seamlessly nodded, showing no sign of confusion.
“Thanks for the update, Wes,” Angel said. “Fred.”
“I’m still exploring the lab. You wouldn’t believe some of the equipment and materials we have. Did you know Wolfram & Hart was working on a weaponized Ebola virus?”
“No,” Angel sighed. “But given enough time, the thought probably would have occurred to me. Lorne.”
“Well, crazy cats,” Lorne said, energetically jumping to his feet. He began passing out folders. “The plan to expand the entertainment division by adding a sports division is going great!”
Angel hid his lack of interest and began lackadaisically flipping through the folder of athlete pictures and profiles.
“As you can see from out portfolio, since beginning the sports agenting services, I’ve signed some of the hottest names in pro sports.”
“Ooh,” Fred squealed, turning to one of the pages. “I did his bloodwork,” she said to Gunn, pointing at an athlete’s profile.
“The combination of legal services,” Lorne continued, “combined with agent representation has allowed us to undercut-”
“Son of a bitch!” Angel yelled, slamming his fist down on the table.
“Not a fan of Eric Gagne?” Gunn asked.
“Harmony!” Angel shouted, slamming his hand down on the intercom. “Get me Eve! Now!”
“Angel-” Wesley started in a soothing, all-too-reasonable voice.
“The rest of you get out,” Angel said quietly.
“Not the first time he’s said that,” Gunn said, exchanging a meaningful look with Wes.
“Sorry,” Angel said, his temper finally settling. “I just need to talk to her alone.”
“I’ve been meaning to visit Cordy, anyway,” Fred said, gathering her papers.
“That’s a good idea,” Lorne said, hot on her footsteps.
Three Days Earlier
Time seemed to be moving in slow motion as Connor sat in the penalty box. San Francisco had scored two goals on the power play. The game was tied now.
"Come on! Come on!" Connor yelled as the time ran out on his penalty. No sooner had the gates parted two inches than Connor shot out. Ice sprayed up as he shot to the puck. Ten seconds were left and Connor thought he could hear the clock ticking. He could almost feel it, the vibrations it created, in the ice under his skates.
Connor was drawn to the puck like metal to a magnet. Eight seconds left. He slid his stick between Svrcek and Juenet. Seven seconds. He was out from between them. Six seconds. He had control of the puck. Five. He cocked his stick. Four. O'Mally was behind him. Three. He swung. Two. Ice flew up from impact of his stick on the puck. One. SF's goalie was barely able to even flinch before the light went off behind him.
"Score!" the announcer shouted over the sound of the buzzer indicating the game was over. In his first semi-professional hockey game, Connor Reilly had performed a hat trick to take San Jose to a 4-3 victory over arch-rival San Francisco. His parents, who'd driven down to see him, were beaming at him from the stands. After a brief post-game talk from the coach, Connor skated over to his parents, grinning widely.
"Pretty cool, huh?" he said excitedly, taking off his helmet and letting his long hair drop to his shoulders.
His father, Laurence, frowned. "You need to watch that temper, son. SF would've never scored if it hadn't been for those two power plays you gave them. "
"Yeah, I know, but that guy hacked my shins and it hurt like a mother fu-"
Laurence put his hand up. "That's what got you into the penalty box in the first place."
Connor nodded. "Sorry."
"You did great, sweetie," his mother Colleen said encouragingly.
"You're about the fastest thing I've ever seen on skates," said a man approaching behind Laurence. Connor looked up at him as the man held out a card.
"Jim Magee. I’m a talent scout for the Entertainment division of-"
“Entertainment?” Connor said. “Like actors?”
“And athletes,” Magee said.
Laurence grabbed the card. "We'll talk to you in four years, Mr. Magee. My son's finishing school."
"Dad!" Connor said in a whiny voice.
"You must be Mr. Reilly. Are you aware that my agency can negotiate a contract to allow your son to pursue his degree at UCLA? Several of our-"
"Are you aware," Laurence interrupted, "that my son is a Chemical Engineering major at one of the best universities in the world? If Connor's destiny to be a hockey player, another three years won't change that. Thank you for your time Mr. Magee."
"Destiny," Connor said quietly as his father fended off the scout. The word had made him sad over the past few months. Every time he heard it, he felt ill. He felt like he was wasting his time. Like somewhere out there, he did have a destiny. And at the moment, he was nowhere near it and moving in the wrong direction to boot.
Laurence turned back to his son. "You're still in uniform? Hit the showers, change into your civies, and we'll take you to dinner. We have reservations for four at Le Papillon."
"Mmmm . . ." Connor said with a smile. "Expensive French food on dad."
“Who said on dad?” Colleen teased her son. “You’re going to be a big hockey star. You’re paying for us.”
“Wait,” Connor said. “Four? Ah, geez. You brought the brat, didn't you?" It was Connor's duty as an older brother to feign contempt of his younger sister.
"No, we brought your younger sister," Colleen said with a smile, playing a long with his requisite mock-dislike of his siblings.
"What’s her name, again?” Connor scratched his head. “Emily or something?”
“Emma, I think,” Colleen smiled.
“Riiiight. And she drove all the way from Boulder Creek to not watch me play?"
Laurence smiled. "Nancy MacIntosh is bringing her down after her tour of Stanford. She’s thinking of going there, too."
"Nooooo. Hasn't she spent enough time with me? Seriously, you should've told me she was coming. I would've gotten her something nice."
"You did," Colleen said, holding up a bag. She always bought her children gifts and claimed they were from the other. "I think I recall you buying her a rather nice Stanford sweatshirt and baseball cap."
"Oh, did I?" Connor laughed. "Should've gotten her a Yale jersey. Or maybe I could've gotten her a date with our goalie. He's completely her type."
Laurence didn't like this dating humor, especially regarding his twelve-year-old daughter and a seventeen-year-old boy. "Your sister's not dating a goalie or anyone else. She's going to Stanford and then it's straight to the nunnery."
"Shower," Colleen said sternly to Connor, even though it was Laurence who had annoyed her. However much her husband hated dating humor, Colleen hated nunnery jokes even more. Then again, considering all the things she and Laurence had done in high school, maybe he had a point.
In a few short minutes, Connor emerged from the showers with clothes disheveled and his shoulder-length hair still wet. "Ready," he said with a grin. He was happy his family was here. But in his stomach, Connor could feel it, still trying to eat its way out. Destiny.
*
“Hey,” Connor said. “I’d like to speak with Jim Magee.”
His parents and sister were still at the dinner table. Connor had excused himself to use the restroom, but headed for the payphone. Magee’s card had only been flashed in front of him for the briefest of seconds. But with his photographic memory, that was all Connor needed.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Connor Reilly.”
“One moment, please.”
“Connor? This is Magee. How are you?”
“So, um . . . if I wanted to play, how’s that work?”
“I see you entered the draft last year and no one selected you.”
“Yeah,” Connor said with some embarrassment.
“That’s a good thing,” Magee said, responding to Connor’s tone. “If you’d been drafted, you’d be forced to sign with the team that drafted you. Your situation means you can sign with any team for any amount of money. And after they see you play, any amount of money is exactly what they’ll pay.”
Connor laughed disbelievingly. “Um, would I have to do a try out or something?”
“Yeah, for the teams we’re interested in. Noticed I said teams we’re interested in, not teams that’re interested in you. And I imagine other agents may have contacted you. But our company is primarily a law firm. Therefore, our sports agenting service includes keeping the entire firm on retainer for other matters. That’s free legal counseling and services for outside contracts and any misdemeanor legal problems athletes sometimes have. If you buy real estate, we handle the closing free of charge. You buy a rental property, we write up the lease agreements free of charge. It’s a deal other agents just can’t offer.”
“Well, that’s kind of good, I guess. But, my dad wants me to stay in school.”
“You can make your own decisions,” Magee said. “After all, you’re a grown man, aren’t you?”
“Actually, no. I’m only seventeen. I don’t turn eighteen until November.”
“That’s old enough for the time being. We can sign you to a representation contract. It’ll probably take us about a month to decide on a team anyway. And we can very easily legally emancipate you from your parents.”
“I don’t want to divorce my dad,” Connor said frantically.
“It’s a legal and financial thing. Not going home for Christmas isn’t a requirement of the process.”
A moment later, Connor sat back down at the table. He began fidgeting.
“Are you okay?” Colleen asked. “Let me rephrase that. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Connor said. “Hey Emma,” he quickly turned to his sister. “Have you checked out the dessert display?”
“Oh,” Emma said sadly, putting her napkin down. “Grown up talk.” She walked off to see the desserts.
“What is it?” Laurence said, fairly sure it had to do with the sports agent. But when Connor gave him the breakdown, Laurence couldn’t believe it. Signing with an agent, legal emancipation, and contract talks with three teams were already in the works.
Laurence threw down his napkin and stormed away from the table.
“Dad,” Connor whined in objection.
“I can’t believe you did this,” Colleen said. “Just went right behind our backs. No conversation abou-”
“I wanted a conversation about it,” Connor protested. He pointed to the table. “This here was going to be the conversation. Dad’s the one who just made a life-changing decision for me without even including me in the process.”
“It wasn’t a life changing decision. It was a . . . life-keeping-the-same decision.” Connor rolled his eyes and Colleen shrugged in assent. “I see your point. But Jesus, Connor, you couldn’t save the words legal emancipation for a follow up conversation.”
“I just wanted to explain that I can do this with or with out you, but I still want your support.”
“You’ll get our love. Our support we save for good decisions.”
Connor put his head in his hands and sighed. “You think this is a bad decision”
“I don’t know. It’s an awful lot of money, sweetie. Are you sure you can handle it?”
“You can have it. The money. Put it in a trust for me and the brat or something.”
“Connor, I don’t want your money.”
“Mom, this money could change our lives.”
“That’s what I’m worried about, Connor. This money probably would change our lives. And personally, I think our lives are pretty good as they are. Maybe this money won’t change them for the better.”
“It’s days like this I wish I hadn’t quit smoking.”
“If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be getting recruited by a sports agent.” Colleen pulled her son to her and kissed his forehead. “I trust your judgment, sweetie. If this is what you think you want to do with your life, I . . . I guess there’s no sense putting it off four years.”
“I don’t know if this is what I want to do. But ever since I got my S.A.T. scores, I felt like my life was going . . . I don’t know. In the wrong direction or something.”
“And this direction feels right?”
“It feels . . .” Connor shrugged. “Different.”
Colleen sighed and stood up. “Let me talk to your father.”
As Colleen walked away, Emma came over and sat next to Connor. “Thanks a lot jerk,” she said teasingly. “First you cause a scene that has the whole restaurant looking at us, then you piss off dad so much he’ll never let me get my ears pierced.”
“You know me. Always thinking up ways to ruin your life. I think I’ll ask dad about making your curfew earlier.”
“So what happened? You get Tracy pregnant.”
“Hey,” Connor said, indicating Emma had crossed a line. He wasn’t offended by the implication, but it upset him that his twelve-year-old sister was talking like that.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize it was a touchy subject.”
Connor quickly tickled Emma. “You are by far my least favorite sister.”
“And your favorite, too.”
“Only on Wednesdays,” Connor said. It was an inside joke with himself. Wednesday was the day Emma stayed late at school for soccer practice. Connor and his girlfriend Tracy had the house to themselves on Wednesday afternoons.
Laurence sat down at the table with Colleen. “Okay. Four conditions. First, no drinking, drugs, or groupies.”
“Who’d want to be Connor’s groupie?” Emma scoffed.
“I’m not kidding,” Laurence said.
Connor rolled his eyes. “Dad, take it easy. I’m not Jimmy Page.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise,” Connor said.
“Drugs includes tobacco,” Colleen said.
“I think whatever hockey team I join would discourage smoking.”
“That’s what you said in high school. Didn’t keep you from hiding Camel’s in your desk.”
“Fine,” Connor threw his hands up. “No cigarettes.”
“Second,” Laurence continued. “You have a set amount of money you live off of. You give at least ten percent to charity. The rest you split equally into two trust funds. One for you. One for your sister.”
“Which sister?” Connor joked.
Colleen put her hand on Connor’s and squeezed gently. “That’s enough joking for tonight, honey.”
“Of course I’ll do that. I’m the one who suggested that in the first place.”
“Third, you call me and your mother every week. We’ll want to make sure you’re still the boy we raised.”
“I promise I’ll call every week so you’ll know I’m still the man you raised,” Connor said defiantly.
“Finally,” Laurence said, leaning back in his chair and grinning. “Will you finally get a decent hair cut?”
“What is it with you and the haircuts?” Connor moaned.
“Face it, Connor,” Emma said. “You already look like a girl without the long hair. You keep it, and it’s only a matter of time until another player confuses you for a girl and asks you out.”
“Fine,” Connor said, in a hurry to put an end to the ubiquitous androgyny references. “I’ll cut my hair to the longest length that can still be considered respectable.”
“Deal,” Laurence said, holding out his hand. Connor shook hands with his father.
“So,” Emma said. “I’m getting a trust fund?”
“Why do you have scorpions in the vending machine?” Emma asked Harmony. She felt pretty brazen knowing that her older brother was one of the most desired prospects for Wolfram & Hart’s new sports agent services.
“Oh, um . . . they’re just candy shaped like scorpions,” Harmony replied.
“Then why are they moving?”
“Listen little girl,” Harmony shouted, putting down her magazine. But her annoyed expression melted away when she looked down at Emma. “Awww! Aren’t you just the cutest thing? I could just eat you up.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t, sugar cakes,” Lorne said as he stepped into the lobby. “We try not to eat our clients’ sisters.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Connor said. “Your secretary can eat Emma if she wants.”
Emma punched Connor’s arm. Connor smiled and messed her hair, surely the cruelest thing one can do to a twelve-year-old girl.
“Okay,” Laurence said, stepping out of an office with Colleen, Jim Magee, and a couple other lawyers. “Looks like the paperwork for your trusts are set up.”
“Dad, check it out,” Connor said, pointing to Lorne. “They must be shooting a movie here or something.”
Lorne was about to protest, then thought better of it. “Yeah. I’m going to be an extra in a Spielberg flick. It’s one of the perks I get as head of the Entertainment division here. Anyway, sorry to put you through this, but we’re going to give you a drug and steroid screening. We’re very adamant about our athletes being clean. That’s why we never even tried to sign Barry Bonds.”
“But don’t the teams check for that?” Connor asked.
“Our process is much more thorough. We have oodles and oodles of performance enhancers we can detect, both natural and supernatural.”
“Supernatural?” Connor asked skeptically.
Lorne bit his lip. “Well, I meant . . . you know what? It’s probably best we just pretend I didn’t say that. Come on down to the lab.”
“Hi, I’m Fred,” the scientist said, shaking Connor’s hand.
Wes, who happened to be in the lab, gave Connor a reproachful look when the boy smiled just a little too widely as he took Fred’s hand.
“Sorry if I’m not good at doing this,” she said as she stuck Connor with a needle and drew blood. “I’m actually the head of the division, but I don’t trust any of my employees not to kill me in my sleep, let alone not tamper with a blood sample, so I’ll be doing the blood work myself.”
“Um, Fred,” Wesley said. “You’re rambling. And while I usually find that quite cute, you happen to be saying things that our clients don’t need to hear.”
“You think your employees are going to kill you?” Connor asked.
“Well,” Fred said, nervously biting her lip. “Probably not on the first day, anyway.”
Wolfram & Hart; October 1, 2003
“You rang,” Eve said coyly as she stepped into the room.
“Care to explain this?” Angel shouted, throwing the sports client portfolio on the table.
“Lorne’s expanding Entertainment to include representation of athletes.”
“Care to explain the seventeen year old hockey star to be?”
“I don’t know what to say,” Eve said, picking up the folder. “As far as I know, the NHL has a minimum age of eighteen.”
“Don’t get cute.”
Eve flipped through the file. “Oh. Oh my god.” She looked up. “Angel, I-”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know about this!”
“I didn’t. Believe it or not, the Entertainment Division is not high up on the Senior Partners’ list of priorities. I mean, sure, we help out the scientologists, but other than that-”
“Get rid of him.”
“How? How am I supposed to go to Lorne and tell him to drop someone without him getting suspicious. And do you think he’s going to lose a client he calls . . .” Eve looked down at Lorne’s profile of Connor and read. “The hottest new player in hockey; faster on skates than any human has a right to be.”
Eve looked up and raised her eyebrows. “And from what I hear, Connor doesn’t even know how fast he can move yet.”
“I thought you’d make sure he wouldn’t find out,” Angel snarled.
“Angel, we changed the kid’s past. We can’t do anything about his future. Or his physiology. Sooner or later, he’ll notice he’s not like other boys. Look, I’m sorry. Wolfram & Hart knew you’d bought Connor hockey sticks when he was a baby. The Senior Partners thought it’d be a treat if the kid played hockey.”
“Do something about this, Eve. I don’t want my son tainted by this place.”
“Well . . . it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” Eve raised a hand to calm Angel when she saw him snarl. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Later that night, Fred was back at work. She’d spent much of the day with Cordy and didn’t want to sleep just yet for fear of nightmares. She was using what looked like a video game controller to move a mechanical arm in an air tight room. Inside the room were various materials that were sensitive, dangerous, or both.
“Fred?”
“Agh,” Fred screamed, jerking the mechanical arm. She’d been surprised by Wesley’s quiet entrance.
“Sorry,” Wesley said, seeing she’d knocked over some of the materials she was using when he startled her.
“Oh no,” Fred said.
“What?” Wesley asked.
“It looks like someone was working with the weaponized Ebola.” Fred looked at a computer monitor. “Don’t worry. The room’s sealed.”
Fred maneuvered the mechanical arm. “Looks like the virus got on some old blood samples.”
“Any idea who was working with the virus?” Wes asked.
“I’ll have to see who was logged on earlier. In the meantime, might as well check what the virus does.”
Fred put the samples under a microscope and brought them up on screen one by one. “Yikes. We really ought to destroy this stuff.”
“Or work with it to find an immunization. I doubt this is the only branch of Wolfram & Hart that was working on the virus.”
“Oh my god,” Fred whispered as she looked at a new sample.
“What is it?” Wes asked, terrified by Fred’s tone.
“I need a list of all blood samples we’ve taken in the last four days.”
“What is it?” Wes repeated, more urgently this time.
“It’s impossible, but this blood is . . .” Fred looked at Wes. She wanted him to see she wasn’t joking. “It’s eating the virus.”
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