Covey, Stephen R.:7 Habits of Highly Effective Families
- Taschenbuch 2009, ISBN: 9781883219116
Gebundene Ausgabe
CENTURY. Very Good. 6.38 x 1.38 x 9.45 inches. Hardcover. 2009. 384 pages. <br>It's a deadly game of blackmail. And they're makin g him play. Kyle McAvoy is one of the outst… Mehr…
CENTURY. Very Good. 6.38 x 1.38 x 9.45 inches. Hardcover. 2009. 384 pages. <br>It's a deadly game of blackmail. And they're makin g him play. Kyle McAvoy is one of the outstanding legal students of his generation: he's good looking, has a brilliant mind and a glittering future ahead of him. But he has a secret from his past , a secret that threatens to destroy his entire life. One night t hat secret catches up with him in the form of a deeply compromisi ng video of the incident that haunts him. Kyle realises that he n o longer owns his own future - that he must do as his blackmailer s tell him, or the video will be made public, with all the unplea sant consequences. What price do they demand for Kyle's secret? I t is for Kyle to take a job in New York as an associate at the la rgest law firm in the world. Kyle won't be working for this compa ny, but against it - passing on the secrets of it's biggest trial to date, a dispute worth billions of dollars to the victor. Full of twists and turns and reminiscent of The Firm, The Associate i s vintage John Grisham. Editorial Reviews Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. 1 The rules of the New Haven Youth League required that each kid play at least ten minutes in each game. Exceptions were allowed for players who had upset the ir coaches by skipping practice or violating other rules. In such cases, a coach could file a report before the game and inform th e scorekeeper that so-and-so wouldn't play much, if at all, becau se of some infraction. This was frowned on by the league; it was, after all, much more recreational than competitive. With four minutes left in the game, Coach Kyle looked down the bench, nodde d at a somber and pouting little boy named Marquis, and said, Do you want to play? Without responding, Marquis walked to the score rs' table and waited for a whistle. His violations were numerous- skipping practice, skipping school, bad grades, losing his unifor m, foul language. In fact, after ten weeks and fifteen games, Mar quis had broken every one of the few rules his coach tried to enf orce. Coach Kyle had long since realized that any new rule would be immediately violated by his star, and for that reason he trimm ed his list and fought the temptation to add new regulations. It wasn't working. Trying to control ten inner- city kids with a sof t touch had put the Red Knights in last place in the 12 and Under division of the winter league. Marquis was only eleven, but cl early the best player on the court. He preferred shooting and sco ring over passing and defending, and within two minutes he'd slas hed through the lane, around and through and over much larger pla yers, and scored six points. His average was fourteen, and if all owed to play more than half a game, he could probably score thirt y. In his own young opinion, he really didn't need to practice. In spite of the one-man show, the game was out of reach. Kyle Mc Avoy sat quietly on the bench, watching the game and waiting for the clock to wind down. One game to go and the season would be ov er, his last as a basketball coach. In two years he'd won a dozen , lost two dozen, and asked himself how any person in his right m ind would willingly coach at any level. He was doing it for the k ids, he'd said to himself a thousand times, kids with no fathers, kids from bad homes, kids in need of a positive male influence. And he still believed it, but after two years of babysitting, and arguing with parents when they bothered to show up, and hassling with other coaches who were not above cheating, and trying to ig nore teenage referees who didn't know a block from a charge, he w as fed up. He'd done his community service, in this town anyway. He watched the game and waited, yelling occasionally because th at's what coaches are supposed to do. He looked around the empty gym, an old brick building in downtown New Haven, home to the you th league for fifty years. A handful of parents were scattered th rough the bleachers, all waiting for the final horn. Marquis scor ed again. No one applauded. The Red Knights were down by twelve w ith two minutes to go. At the far end of the court, just under the ancient scoreboard, a man in a dark suit walked through the d oor and leaned against the retractable bleachers. He was noticeab le because he was white. There were no white players on either te am. He stood out because he wore a suit that was either black or navy, with a white shirt and a burgundy tie, all under a trench c oat that announced the presence of an agent or a cop of some vari ety. Coach Kyle happened to see the man when he entered the gym , and he thought to himself that the guy was out of place. Probab ly a detective of some sort, maybe a narc looking for a dealer. I t would not be the first arrest in or around the gym. After the agent/cop leaned against the bleachers, he cast a long suspiciou s look at the Red Knights' bench, and his eyes seemed to settle o n Coach Kyle, who returned the stare for a second before it becam e uncomfortable. Marquis let one fly from near mid- court, air ba ll, and Coach Kyle jumped to his feet, spread his hands wide, sho ok his head as if to ask, Why? Marquis ignored him as he loafed b ack on defense. A dumb foul stopped the clock and prolonged the m isery. While looking at the free-throw shooter, Kyle glanced beyo nd him, and in the background was the agent/cop, still staring, n ot at the action but at the coach. For a twenty-five-year-old l aw student with no criminal record and no illegal habits or procl ivities, the presence and the attention of a man who gave all ind ications of being employed by some branch of law enforcement shou ld have caused no concern whatsoever. But it never worked that wa y with Kyle McAvoy. Street cops and state troopers didn't particu larly bother him. They were paid to simply react. But the guys in dark suits, the investigators and agents, the ones trained to di g deep and discover secrets-those types still unnerved him. Thi rty seconds to go and Marquis was arguing with a referee. He'd th rown an F-bomb at a ref two weeks earlier and was suspended for a game. Coach Kyle yelled at his star, who never listened. He quic kly scanned the gym to see if agent/cop No. 1 was alone or was no w accompanied by agent/cop No. 2. No, he was not. Another dumb foul, and Kyle yelled at the referee to just let it slide. He sat down and ran his finger over the side of his neck, then flicked off the perspiration. It was early February, and the gym was, as always, quite chilly. Why was he sweating? The agent/cop hadn 't moved an inch; in fact he seemed to enjoy staring at Kyle. T he decrepit old horn finally squawked. The game was mercifully ov er. One team cheered, and one team really didn't care. Both lined up for the obligatory high fives and Good game, good game, as me aningless to twelve- year- olds as it is to college players. As K yle congratulated the opposing coach, he glanced down the court. The white man was gone. What were the odds he was waiting outsi de? Of course it was paranoia, but paranoia had settled into Kyle 's life so long ago that he now simply acknowledged it, coped wit h it, and moved on. The Red Knights regrouped in the visitors' locker room, a cramped little space under the sagging and permane nt stands on the home side. There Coach Kyle said all the right t hings-nice effort, good hustle, our game is improving in certain areas, let's finish on a high note this Saturday. The boys were c hanging clothes and hardly listening. They were tired of basketba ll because they were tired of losing, and of course all blame was heaped upon the coach. He was too young, too white, too much of an Ivy Leaguer. The few parents who were there waited outside t he locker room, and it was those tense moments when the team came out that Kyle hated most about his community service. There woul d be the usual complaints about playing time. Marquis had an uncl e, a twenty-two year-old former all-state player with a big mouth and a fondness for bitching about Coach Kyle's unfair treatment of the best player in the league. From the locker room, there w as another door that led to a dark narrow hallway that ran behind the home stands and finally gave way to an outside door that ope ned into an alley. Kyle was not the first coach to discover this escape route, and on this night he wanted to avoid not only the f amilies and their complaints but also the agent/ cop. He said a q uick goodbye to his boys, and as they fled the locker room, he ma de his escape. In a matter of seconds he was outside, in the alle y, then walking quickly along a frozen sidewalk. Heavy snow had b een plowed, and the sidewalk was icy and barely passable. The tem perature was somewhere far below freezing. It was 8:30 on a Wedne sday, and he was headed for the law journal offices at the Yale L aw School, where he would work until midnight at least. He didn 't make it. The agent was leaning against the fender of a red J eep Cherokee that was parked parallel on the street. The vehicle was titled to one John McAvoy of York, Pennsylvania, but for the past six years it had been the reliable companion of his son, Kyl e, the true owner. Though his feet suddenly felt like bricks an d his knees were weak, Kyle managed to trudge on as if nothing we re wrong. Not only did they find me, he said to himself as he tri ed to think clearly, but they've done their homework and found my Jeep. Not exactly high-level research. I have done nothing wrong , he said again and again. Tough game, Coach, the agent said wh en Kyle was ten feet away and slowing down. Kyle stopped and to ok in the thick young man with red cheeks and red bangs who'd bee n watching him in the gym. Can I help you? he said, and immediate ly saw the shadow of No. 2 dart across the street. They always wo rked in pairs. No. 1 reached into a pocket, and as he said That 's exactly what you can do, he pulled out a leather wallet and fl ipped it open. Bob Plant, FBI. A real pleasure, Kyle said as al l the blood left his brain and he couldn't help but flinch. No. 2 wedged himself into the frame. He was much thinner and ten yea rs older with gray around the temples. He, too, had a pocketful, and he performed the well- rehearsed badge presentation with ease . Nelson Ginyard, FBI, he said. Bob and Nelson. Both Irish. Bot h northeastern. Anybody else? Kyle asked. No. Got a minute to talk? Not really. You might want to, Ginyard said. It could be very productive. I doubt that. If you leave, we'll just fo llow, Plant said as he stood from his slouch position and took a step closer. You don't want us on campus, do you? Are you threa tening me? Kyle asked. The sweat was back, now in the pits of his arms, and despite the arctic air a bead or two ran down his ribs . Not yet, Plant said with a smirk. Look, let's spend ten min utes together, over coffee, Ginyard was saying. There's a sandwic h shop just around the corner. I'm sure it's warmer there. Do I need a lawyer? No. That's what you always say. My father is a lawyer and I grew up in his office. I know your tricks. No tr icks, Kyle, I swear, Ginyard said, and he at least sounded genuin e. Just give us ten minutes. I promise you won't regret it. Wha t's on the agenda? Ten minutes. That's all we ask. Give me a clue or the answer is no. Bob and Nelson looked at each other. Both shrugged. Why not? We'll have to tell him sooner or later. G inyard turned and looked down the street and spoke into the wind. Duquesne University. Five years ago. Drunk frat boys and a girl. Kyle's body and mind had different reactions. His body concede d- a quick slump of the shoulders, a slight gasp, a noticeable je rk in the legs. But his mind fought back instantly. That's bullsh it! he said, then spat on the sidewalk. I've already been through this. Nothing happened and you know it. There was a long pause as Ginyard continued to stare down the street while Plant watche d their subject's every move. Kyle's mind was spinning. Why was t he FBI involved in an alleged state crime? In second-year Crimina l Procedure they had studied the new laws regarding FBI interroga tion. It was now an indictable offense to simply lie to an agent in this very situation. Should he shut up? Should he call his fat her? No, under no circumstances would he call his father. Ginya rd turned, took three steps closer, clenched his jaw like a bad a ctor, and tried to hiss his tough- guy words. Let's cut to the ch ase, Mr. McAvoy, because I'm freezing. There's an indictment out of Pittsburgh, okay. Rape. If you want to play the hard-ass smart -ass brilliant law student and run get a lawyer, or even call you r old man, then the indictment comes down tomorrow and the life y ou have planned is pretty much shot to shit. However, if you give us ten minutes of your valuable time, right now, in the sandwich shop around the corner, then the indictment will be put on hold, if not forgotten altogether. You can walk away from it, Plant said from the side. Without a word. Why should I trust you? Kyl e managed to say with a very dry mouth. Ten minutes. You got a tape recorder? Sure. I want it on the table, okay? I want e very word recorded because I don't trust you. Fair enough. Th ey jammed their hands deep into the pockets of their matching tre nch coats and stomped away. Kyle unlocked his Jeep and got inside . He started the engine, turned the heat on high, and thought abo ut driving away. Excerpted from THE ASSOCIATE by John Grisham P ublished by Doubleday Reprinted with permission of the publisher. Copyright © 2009 by Belfry Holdings, Inc. From the Hardcover ed ition. --This text refers to the paperback edition. From Publish ers Weekly Bestseller Grisham's contemporary legal thriller offer s an action-and-suspense plot reminiscent of that of his breakout book, 1991's The Firm, in contrast to 2008's didactic The Appeal , which served as a platform for his concerns about the corruptin g effects of judicial elections. Kyle McAvoy, a callow Yale Law S chool student, dreams of a public service gig on graduation, unti l shadowy figures blackmail him with a videotape that could reviv e a five-year-old rape accusation. Instead of helping those in ne ed, McAvoy accepts a position at a huge Wall Street firm, Scully & Pershing, whose clients include a military contractor enmeshed in a $800 billion lawsuit concerning a newly-designed aircraft. M cAvoy can avoid exposure of his past if he feeds his new masters inside informati, CENTURY, 2009, 3, Salt Lake City, Utah, U.S.A.: Franklincovey, 1995. FOUR AUDIO CASSETTE TAPES! Four audio cassette edition in the boxed case published by Covey Audio. Some shelf wear and a bit of scuff to the box. The four audio cassettes are STURDY and PRESENTABLE! A useful, reliable performance.. Audio Book. Good., Franklincovey, 1995, 2.5<
