Boston, Massachusetts

The banners above TD Garden never lost their shine. Gold, green, and white shimmered in the rafters as if history itself kept them dusted and polished. Kyle Wilson stood beneath them, alone. No cameras. No fans. Just hardwood and memory.

His body still ached. The doctors had cleared him for light activity, but the front office was adamant — no full-contact drills until training camp. No risking the franchise cornerstone.

He dribbled a ball gently, letting it echo through the empty arena. No dunks. No sprint bursts. Just the rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap.

It had been nearly a month since the Celtics shut him down for the playoffs. A tough pill to swallow. He'd dropped 52 points in what would be his final game of the season. A performance that would be etched into Celtics lore — a masterpiece cut short by swelling in his left knee that refused to go down.

But Kyle hadn't just been rehabbing his knee.

He'd been digging into the tapes. Learning about Derrick Wilson. The manipulator. The fixer. The father who vanished into myth. And now, in the silence of the Garden, Kyle was starting to feel the weight of that legacy more than ever.

Back in the Locker Room

Jayson Tatum entered, nodding toward Kyle with a low whistle.

"Couldn't stay away from the hardwood, huh?"

Kyle cracked a half-smile.

"Figured the ghosts missed me."

Tatum leaned on the locker across from him. "You good though? For real?"

Kyle nodded slowly. "Physically, yeah. Mentally… it's complicated."

He didn't mention the tapes. He hadn't told anyone. Not even his agent. Not even Coach Mazzulla.

Tatum clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't rush the comeback. We got time. Banner 19 isn't going anywhere."

Later That Night — Back at the Condo

Kyle sat on the rooftop balcony, overlooking the Charles River. The skyline glowed. He scrolled through old headlines on his tablet.

Celtics Crowned Champions After Kyle Wilson's 38-Point Finals Performance

Wilson Injury Timeline Remains Unclear as Offseason Begins

But none of that hit as hard as one obscure article from 2004 he'd pulled from an old Caribbean newspaper archive.

"Local Hoops Star Vanishes Before Final Game – Rumors Swirl of Match-Fixing, Organized Crime Link"

Derrick Wilson. His father.

Kyle leaned back in his chair. His head buzzed.

A Buzz on His Phone — Unknown Number

A text popped up.

"You're looking into things best left buried."

He sat up straight. Scanned the screen again. There was no name, no number. Just a blank contact and that message.

Then another:

"Your father didn't disappear. He was erased. Watch your step, Kyle."

He tapped to call the number — disconnected.

Chills ran down his spine.

The Next Morning — Celtics Training Facility

Team doctors were reviewing Kyle's knee scans, and the results were promising. "You'll be ready for full-speed by late August," Dr. Patel said, tapping the screen.

Kyle nodded absently. He wasn't thinking about basketball anymore. Not just that.

He was thinking about who would want to erase a man like Derrick Wilson — and why that same shadow was now turning toward him.

Meeting With His Agent — Outside a Quiet Café in Back Bay

Rich Foster, his long-time agent and family friend, took off his sunglasses and leaned forward.

"Let me guess," Rich said. "You've been watching the tapes."

Kyle stiffened. "You knew?"

Rich sighed. "I helped your mom hide them. After Derrick vanished, she was scared. Said he was into something dark. Said if Kyle ever got famous — really famous — people might come back looking."

Kyle's jaw tightened. "So who erased him?"

"I don't know. But if you want the truth…" Rich hesitated, eyes shifting. "You'll need to go to New York. Talk to an old friend of your dad's. Used to run with him back in the underground scene."

Kyle leaned in. "Name?"

Rich looked him dead in the eye.

"Marquis 'Red' Valentine."

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