I stand on the cracked asphalt of the Compton public court, clipboard in hand, watching Venus and Serena drill serves under the afternoon sun. The net sags in the middle, held up by a rope, and the wind carries dust from the street. But they don’t see the flaws. They see the future.

I promised Brandy I wouldn’t push too hard. But how do you balance a dream with reality when the dream is all you’ve got?

Serena stumbles, her knee flaring up again. She grits her teeth, refusing to cry. I walk over, crouch down. 'You good?' I ask.

She nods. 'I can keep going.'

Venus watches, silent, her racket tapping her thigh. I know she’s thinking the same thing: Are we being used?

My phone buzzes. It’s Coach Paul. 'They want you at the USTA meeting. Alone. They’re offering a development deal—but they want control of their training.'

I look at my girls. One injured. One doubting.

I can take the deal and risk losing them to the system. I can refuse and keep them under my roof, under my rules. Or I can negotiate—but that means revealing the notebook, the real plan, the one I’ve never shown anyone.