more controlled. He was one of those guys who tried to imitate the person with whom he was conversing. Myron hated that. "I see you came in at the end of my seminar, Win."
"Did I misunderstand your message?"
"No, it's not that. But a man creates his own world. That's my point. You are what you create, what you perceive. Take responsibility. That's the most important component of the Wells Guide to Wellness. You take responsibility for your own actions. And you admit fault. You know what the two most beautiful sentences in the world are?"
Win opened his mouth, stopped, looked at Myron, shook his head. "Too easy," he said.
"I am responsible,'" Sawyer continued. "'It's my fault.'" He turned toward Myron. "Say it, Myron."
"What?"
"Come on. It's exhilarating. Say,? am responsible. It's my fault.' Stop passing the buck in your life. Say it. Come on, I'll say it with you. Win, you too."
Myron and Sawyer said, "I am responsible. It's my fault." Win remained silent.
"Feel better?" Sawyer said.
" It was almost like sex," Myron said.
"It can be powerful, yes."
"Yeah, uh-huh. Look, Sawyer, I'm not here to critique your seminar. I want to know about Clu's drug test. It was fixed. We have evidence that proves that fact. You helped administer that test. I want to know why you made it look like Clu was on drugs."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The autopsy shows conclusively that Clu hadn't taken drugs for at least two months before his death. Yet you tested him positive two weeks ago."
"Maybe the test was faulty," Sawyer said.
Win tsk-tsked. "Say,? am responsible. It's my fault' "
"Stop passing the buck in your life," Myron added.
"Come on, Sawyer. It's exhilarating."
"That's not funny," Sawyer said.
"Wait," Win said. "You are everything, thus you are the drug test."
"And you are a positive guy," Myron added.
"Ergo the test result was positive."
Sawyer said, "I think I've had just about enough."
"You're finished, Wells," Myron said. "I'll blab to the papers."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anything about a fixed test."
"Want to hear my theory?" Myron said.
"No."
"You're leaving the Yankees and going to work for Vincent Riverton, right?"
"Tm not working exclusively for anyone. His conglomerate publishes my book."
"He's also Sophie Mayor's archenemy."
"You don't know that," Sawyer said.
"He lived for owning the team. When she took over, he was pissed. She ends up being everything New York wants in an owner because she minds her own business. She makes only one move, acquiring Clu Haid, and it's a beauty. Clu pitches better than anyone dared hope. The Yankees start heading for greatness. Then you step in. Clu fails a drug test. Sophie Mayor looks incompetent. The Yankees tumble."
Sawyer seemed to recoup a bit. Something in what Myron had just said had given him a new lease. Odd. "That makes no sense whatsoever."
"What part?"
"All of it," Sawyer said, chest back out. "Sophie Mayor has been good to me. I was working as a drug counselor at the Sloan State and Rockwell rehab centers when she gave me my chance to move up. Why would I want to hurt her?"
"You tell me."
"I have no idea. I firmly believed that Clu was on drugs. If he wasn't, then the test was faulty."
"You know the results are double-tested. There was no mistake. Someone had to fix it."
"It wasn't me. Maybe you should speak to Dr. Stilwell."
"But you were there? You admit that?"
"Yes, I was there. And I will no longer dignify your questions with answers." With that Sawyer Wells abruptly spun and stormed off.
"I don't think he liked us," Myron said.
"But if it's all about you, then we are he."
"So he doesn't like himself?"
"Sad, isn't it?"
"Not to mention confusing," Myron said.
They headed for the exit.
"So where to, O Motivated One?" Win asked.
"Starbucks."
"Latte time?"
Myron shook his head. "Confront FJ time."
Chapter 30
FJ was not there. Myron called his office again. The same secretary told him that FJ was still unavailable. Myron repeated that it was imperative that he speak to Francis Ache Junior as soon as humanly possible. The secretary remained unimpressed.
Myron returned to his office.
Big Cyndi wore a bright green spandex bodysuit with a slogan across the chest-this on a woman who could barely squeeze into a caftan. The fabric screamed in pain, the letters in the slogan so elongated that Myron couldn't read them, kinda like what happens to Silly Putty after you press it against a newspaper headline and stretch it out.
"Lots of clients have been calling, Mr. Bolitar," Big Cyndi said. "They are not pleased by