Myron said nothing. The truth of the matter was, Larry Hanson was partially right. Myron was out of his league. He had been in sports representation for only two years now. Most of his clients were borderline cases - guys who were lucky to make the cut and grabbed the league's minimum. And football was far from his specialty. He had only three NFL players, only one of whom was a starter. Now Myron sat across from thirtyone-year-old wunderkid Otto Burke, the youngest owner in the NFL, and Larry Hanson, former-football-legend-turned-exec, negotiating a contract that even in his inexperienced hands would be the biggest rookie contract in NFL history.

Yes, he - Myron Bolitar - had landed Christian 'Hot Prop' Steele. Twotime Heisman trophy-winning quarterback. Three straight AP and UPI number-one rankings. All-American four years in a row. If that wasn't enough, the kid was an endorsement wet dream. An A student, good looking, articulate, polite, and white (hey, it mattered).

Best of all, he was Myron's.

'The offer is on the table, gentlemen,' Myron continued. 'We think it's more than fair.'

Otto Burke shook his head.

'It's a load of crap!' Larry Hanson shouted. 'You're a goddamn idiot, Bolitar. You're going to flush this kid's career down the toilet.'

Myron spread his arms. 'How about a group hug?'

Larry was about to offer up another expletive, but Otto stopped him with a raised hand. In Larry's playing days Dick Butkus and Ray Nitzchke couldn't stop him with body blows. Now this one-hundredfifty-pound Harvard grad could silence him with but a wave.

Otto Burke leaned forward. He hadn't stopped smiling, hadn't stopped the hand gestures, hadn't stopped the eye contact - like an Anthony Robbins Personal Power infomercial come to life. Disconcerting as all hell.

Otto was a small, fragile-looking man with the tiniest fingers Myron had ever seen. His hair was dark and heavy-metal long, flowing to his shoulders.