The Empty Chair

Daniel Carter is twenty-nine, has never played in the NBA, has never negotiated a major trade, and until yesterday most people in the building thought he fixed the Wi-Fi. This is not a rebuild. This is a distress signal." The clip reached two million views before dinner. Daniel watched it alone in the general manager's office, a room still smelling of the last man's cologne. On the wall hung a framed photo of a playoff win from another era, the kind of relic bad teams used as proof they had once mattered. His phone buzzed without rest. Unknown numbers. Agents. Reporters. Friends from college sending question marks. His mother asking if the television was lying. The roster spreadsheet glowed on his laptop.