Part 4: The Pigskin Lesson The late afternoon sun was hovering just above the ocean horizon, bathing the expansive stone patio behind the Briney estate in a rich, golden hue. Chris stood near the manicured lawn, looking every inch like a modern male catalog model. He had taken off his loafers and was standing barefoot in his medium-wash blue jeans, his fitted black Lacoste polo stretching tightly over his broad, 6'2" frame. In his right hand, he held a genuine leather Wilson NCAA football—the exact official weight ball he threw every Saturday afternoon during college season. He tossed the football up in the air, catching it with a soft thwack of his large palm, before throwing it hard against the tall, stacked-stone retaining wall that lined the edge of the terrace. The leather bounced off the stone with a sharp crack, ricocheting back into his hand with rhythmic perfection. Throw. Crack. Catch. Throw. Crack. Catch. It was a mindless, hypnotic exercise in a...