“Well then, how old were you?”
“Like twelve. I think.” He takes another sip.
“A vulnerable age.” I nod, glancing outside.
“Kids are vulnerable at all ages,” he says darkly, and I glance back.
Did they share the same pain? Asking a question like that directly would be completely inappropriate, so I try a different tack.
“Why do you think he shared his story with you?”
More sipping of the water.
“He trusted me. I guess I’m someone that people trust,” Travis says, finishes off the water, and puts the glass down. “You should drink so you don’t dehydrate.”
Deflection.
My instincts are flaring now because it makes no sense for him to be this defensive. So closed down.
“Travis. Why did you tell me?” I turn, grab my water, and sip through the glass straw. “I can’t do much with the information if I can’t find him.”
Travis nods.
“I can’t speak about it on the show either.”
He nods slowly.
“It’s just hearsay.” I watch him stretch out his arms, his chunky wristwatch makes a clunk sound as it touches the edges of the tub.
He might be a beautiful man, but he’s got a big secret.
I’d put money on it.
But what? What is he hiding?
Any journalist will tell you they listen to their instincts, especially when they get louder and louder. We don’t always find the facts to back it up, but we never ignore them.
“It is.” Travis tilts his head ever so slightly. “But it speaks to the man being guilty of what you’re investigating. So isn’t that encouraging?”
“Yes. Did you meet his father? Leo?”
Blink, blink, blink.
“There’s a possibility he’s been at events I’ve attended over the years. I am on the invite list for very powerful men, including politicians, actors, industry heads.”
The way he worded that was so damn careful, I know he’s choosing the words I want to hear. Or rather, not what I want to hear.
So I keep going.
“Have you been introduced to him?”
“Not that I recall.”
Not that he recalls...so he might know him but was never introduced. Clever.
“You met Terrance when you were about twelve. He went to Phillips Academy—a very pricy boarding school. How did your paths cross?”
It can’t have just been a sporting event. No one is going to open up and share about the childhood abuse they experienced after kicking ball with a stranger.
