Prologue
On Tuesday morning, former Packton Pistons general manager Jimmy Callahan appeared in court for his sentencing.
Brought up on felony charges of conspiracy, making false statements to federal investigators, and bribery, Callahan was found guilty and sentenced to two years in federal prison. Along with these criminal charges, Callahan faces numerous civil cases from the players and owners he deceived, along with the ruling a lifetime ban soon to be issued by Major League Baseball.
Long known as the only family-run ball club, the Callahan family has decided, against the tide of negative public sentiment, not to sell the team. Daniel Callahan, the defendant’s brother, will stay on as majority owner.
Many have questioned his decision to bring on Jimmy Callahan’s twenty-eight-year-old daughter, Colleen, as the team’s general manager.
Melissa Wayne, The Packton Gazette
1
Colleen
This is not my office.
That’s the only thing that keeps running through my head as I step inside, my sensible black heels clacking on the cherry hard wood and then sinking into the plush gray carpet as I near the desk.
All the glass-carved awards sitting on the cherry and gold-plated cabinet. The bulletproof crystal lock box sitting on the right corner of the marble desk, housing five World Series rings. Each bottle of scotch on the expensive rolling bar cart set up on the far left wall.
None of these things are mine. They are artifacts of a past life, one that was lived far more in this office than it ever was in our family home.
Jimmy Callahan, my father, used to have his nameplate on the door to this room. Right now, that spot is blank. But come tomorrow, when the staff installs it, the new brass plate will read Colleen Callahan, General Manager.
I catch sight of myself in a mirror that hangs on one of the walls. Everything about my appearance today screams capable, professional. I made sure of that. How else would I be able to prove to a room full of Packton Pistons executives that I, a not-even-thirty-year-old female could take the helm and run this ship successfully, especially in the wake of my family’s all too public scandal? It surely was not with my words, because I could see by the look on their faces that they thought I was some entitled brat who would be thrown out of the position in one baseball season.
So, I coiffed my light brown hair into a tight bun at the nape of my neck. I’ve worn my grandmother’s most sensible pearls. The beige skirt-suit I’d chosen out of my closet was both modest and stylish. And the heels paired with it were professional; not too high, but still with that air of boss-bitch that I was going for.
I had to will the confidence this morning, muster it up as I pulled into my usual parking spot outside the stadium. But within ten seconds of stepping foot into that meeting, I knew that even my own staff, the people who had known me and my work ethic for years, had little to no faith in me.
They were betrayed, I get it. I was too. But I couldn’t come out and tell them that no one understood their pain and uncertainty more than I did. I had to be the leader, and we were moving on from the permanent stain my father had left on this franchise.
Someone must have turned the TV on in here, albeit on mute. Maybe it was an executive assistant, or maybe it was one of the members of the janitorial staff. Were they trying to send me a message? Send my whole family a message?
Either way, I watch footage of my father fleeing the courtroom, his face down, his lawyer doing all the talking. Fans and reporters alike hurl questions and insults, I don’t need the volume on to know that.
It’s his expression that gets me, though.
Stone cold, no room for remorse or other people’s opinions. It’s the one he’s worn for most of my life. I used to admire it a bit, even if I feared that about him. It meant he could be concise and cold; it meant he could do this job and win this club championships.
I guess I just never assumed, underneath all of that, that it could be calculating. He could be calculating. My father had cheated the very game our entire family loved, and now we were all paying the price.
Does he care? Does Jimmy Callahan lose sleep at night knowing he left his brother and his daughter, not to mention the rest of his extended family, to clean up the pieces of his horrible choices? I haven’t spoken to him since the sentencing concluded a month ago, but my guess would be no. If there is anything this scandal has taught me, it’s that my father is the cruel bastard I always hoped he wasn’t.
Since the news about his dirty dealings and underhanded trading broke, our family have become the pariahs of the sports world. My great-grandfather had worked to build this ball club into a successful organization and then passed it down to my grandfather. Grandpa was one of the shrewdest baseball minds I’d ever met, and he taught me everything I know and love about the game. He molded the Pistons into the team and front office they were today, and made this family-run team a dynasty, as people in the industry liked to call it. When he decided to retire, he passed it down to his sons. Jimmy, my father, ran the team as general manager, while his brother, Daniel, ran the business end of things as the majority owner.
And now, all my family worked for was essentially gone. The house of cards had come toppling down on our heads.
It was a miracle we’d been able to salvage our ownership, much less remain a functioning team in the league. At first, there had been rumors of banning every Callahan from baseball, or disbanding the team because of how many players had been illegally obtained from my father’s dealings. But six months after the initial findings, followed by a trial and sentencing, and we were hanging on by the skin of our teeth.
The sports news program turns to me. I know this because my picture from the Pistons website, the one that was taken by the professional photographer we hired to take photos of the administrative staff last year, flashes on the screen.
What do I know about baseball?
That’s the question they’re all asking. No doubt, the anchors on the most watched sports program are debating my qualifications, the nepotism of my promotion, and my ability to do this job.
So far, there has been no mention, in any article or news show I’ve seen, that I have been training my entire life for this job. Not that it was guaranteed, I had to work for every ounce of my credibility at this organization. If my family name pre-qualified me to work for the Pistons, it also has worked against me at every turn.
When I was a college freshman, I participated in our team internship program for the summer. Not only was the instructor of the program completely biased against me, making me jump through hoops the other kids never had to, but all the other interns ostracized me. They thought if they messed up, I’d go running back to my daddy or something.
Aside from the internship program, I have attended most of the Pistons home games since I was seven years old. I’ve studied the teams, the players, the strategy. I’ve been in the offices for every draft since I could understand the written language and have spent hours with the statistics guys later in my high school and college years.
After college, I came home to work for the family business. I started as an assistant in the marketing department and worked my way around the Pistons’ organization for the last six years. I’ve tried to learn something from every branch of the ball club.