Then, I focused on his grades. His USC scholarship required a 2.5 GPA. I found the online service he used to buy his term papers. A discreet packet sent to the NCAA compliance office, complete with transaction receipts I’d “found,” triggered an immediate fraud investigation. USC suspended his offer pending review.
One down.
Carl Merritt was next. I waited for his Thursday night pickup. I knew the exact time. I knew the exact location. I called the narcotics tip line five minutes before the deal went down. “Armed suspect dealing to a minor.”
When the police swarmed the alley, they found Carl holding enough controlled substances to trigger a felony. His father called in favors, but the arrest report was public. Alabama pulled his scholarship the next morning.
Two down.
Pete Barnes and his truck. I knew the trail he loved—the “Devil’s Drop.” I went out there a night early. I didn’t dig a trap. I simply removed the warning markers for a washed-out section of the trail that had eroded during the last storm. It was a natural hazard; I just ensured he wouldn’t see it until it was too late.
Friday night, Pete hit the washout at fifty miles per hour. His truck rolled three times. He survived—shattered collarbone, three broken ribs, and a concussion. The dashcam proved he was speeding. Driver error. Season over.
Three down.
Alberto Stone. The runner. I adjusted his route for him. A simple, widened pothole on a dark corner of his 5:00 AM run, filled with loose gravel. He hit it at full sprint. The scream when his ACL and MCL snapped was loud enough to wake the neighbors. I watched the ambulance arrive from three blocks away. He wouldn’t pass a physical for Oregon now.
Four down.
Steven Coons. I went to the coffee shop where his girlfriend, Christy, spent her afternoons. I sat at the next table, reading a paper. When I left, I “accidentally” dropped a USB drive. It was labeled Steven_Phone_Backup.
Curiosity is a powerful force. When she plugged it in, she found the videos I’d scraped from the deep web—Steven with other girls, Steven bragging about controlling her. She went nuclear. She posted everything. She tagged LSU. She tagged the local news. She revealed he’d pressured her to lie about a previous assault. The public outcry was deafening.
Five down.
And Samuel Randolph. The lawyer’s son. I saved him for last. I tracked his dealer, a gym rat selling cheap pills. I made sure the next batch Samuel bought was laced with a powerful emetic—something that mimics a severe cardiac event without killing you.
Samuel collapsed during practice. He was rushed to Mercy General—the same hospital where my son lay. The tox screen lit up like a Christmas tree. Expelled. Scholarship revoked.
Six for six.
In two weeks, the “Kings of Riverside” were dethroned. Hospitalized, arrested, or disgraced. Their fathers were scrambling, screaming about sabotage, but there was no proof. Just a string of incredible bad luck brought on by their own vices.
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