(Continued from CC3; Nothing Routine)
"He fronts as a developmental psychologist. He pockets money from corporations and baseball organizations, who, through ignorance and desperation, fall prey to his graphics team's simplistic color-coded grading system."
Vic shifted uneasily in his seat, listening.
"But that's all just a ruse," the doctor continued. "You see, Jürgen, my brother, he's, well, how can I say, much more sinister than some white-collar conman."
"The chip, then, was ..."
"It was sinister, Victor."
Vic still didn't understand what the chip did. Dalrymple wasn't sick. He knew that much. He'd read the physical report put out by Darlymple's agent after Darymple was released by Vegas this past fall and became a free agent. Healthy, is what it said. All clear. Chicago even put Darylmple through a simple workout as part of their due diligence on possibly signing him. Darlymple looked great. "I just don't get it. What do you mean, sinister?"
"What are you getting at?" Vic said. The ramifications of such a tool and its uses were running wild in his head.
"I will need to study the chip further to be certain, but, you're the baseball guy, which is also part of the reason you're here, we need you to help us find who Jürgen was contracted to do this work."
"Wait. What? Are you saying someone in the Brewster put that chip in him?" Vic shook his head. He wanted to stand up and pace the room to help himself think, but he stayed seated. "You're saying someone put that chip in him to slow down his reaction times?"
"Yes, to gain an advantage."
"But, who?" Vic pulled his phone from his pocket and searched the BBA database for Dalrymple's stats over his career.
"Madison?" Vic said, confused. "Madison was a mess when Dalrymple played there. That just doesn't make any sense."
