Chapter 16
Hades
The message waiting for me while I eat breakfast has only two words in capitals and a link, but it's enough to turn my blood cold.
Ethan: READ THIS.
When I open it, it takes me to a short article, no more than four paragraphs, but the worst part is the photos. Mireya leaving my house at six fifteen this morning with her hair messy. Three shots, all taken from the same spot. In the most damaging one, I'm kissing her forehead in the doorway.
My phone drops out of my hands.
I run it back. There was a dark sedan at the end of the street, but neither of us stopped to think there could be someone inside. Someone with a camera and a long-range lens.
I need to call Mireya before I do anything else.
We said we'd face this together.
“Did you see the article?” she asks, voice low.
“I'm calling Alexandra Drummond the moment we hang up, and I'll call an emergency board meeting for this afternoon, but I needed to know how you were first.”
“I'm okay. Scared, but okay. You?”
“Same. Mireya, listen to me. Don't come to training today. Stay at your place, or better yet go to Tessa's or Iris's. The press will be waiting, and it won't be pleasant.”
“I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone,” she says. “We literally talked about this yesterday. We decided together, so don't push me out now, please.”
“I'm not pushing you out. I'm asking you to stay away from the training facility until I've spoken to Drummond and the board. That's it. After that, we talk to the locker room together. I promise.”
“Okay,” she says finally. “But call me the minute you're done. And I'm really sorry this got so complicated.”
**
Drummond is waiting in her office at ten. No coffee, and a look on her face that could stop traffic.
On her desk there's a printed sheet of paper, just two paragraphs, topped with the club logo. The communications department put it together in the time it takes to pour a glass of water, with an efficiency I can't decide whether to admire or find unsettling.
“Read it and sign,” she says, sliding it across her desk.
It's short. It states that the club has full confidence in the professionalism of its technical staff, that the private lives of its employees are a personal matter, and that the club will not be commenting on information published in outside media.
Still, if preferential treatment is confirmed, appropriate measures will be taken.
It's correct in form, as you'd expect, and completely useless in practice.
“I'm not signing it,” I say, sliding it back.
“What do you propose?”
“I want to convene the board this afternoon.
I want Lauren to handle the case. We ask her to design an external oversight protocol that regulates the professional relationship between Mireya Guerrero and the coaching staff.
Ethan signs off on the semi-annual reports, and an independent auditor reviews them.
We eliminate any conflict of interest, but I'm not walking away from my relationship with Mireya.
If the club disagrees, I'll submit my resignation.”
“And you want your ex-wife to handle the case?”
“Exactly. She's the most competent attorney I know and the only one I can trust right now. She's also the only person who can have everything ready to present to the league by Monday, before they get ahead of us and open a formal inquiry,” I say, exhaling.
Drummond uncrosses her legs and crosses them the other way.
“Fine. Five o'clock,” she says. “I'll call the board members. Diana — make this work. If it works, I have no problem with you staying. You know I trust you. But if you can't make it work, you know what happens,” she adds, before I step out of her office.
Then I call Lauren. She picks up almost immediately. She's already read the article.
“Diana, I told you,” she says, without even a hello.
“I know. Do you have a minute?”
“I have as much time as you need,” she tells me.
I walk her through everything: the conversation with Alexandra Drummond, the agreement I'd made with Mireya the night before, even Iris's surprise visit. Lauren lets me talk and doesn't cut in once. Twelve years of marriage and five of divorce, and that has never changed.
When I finish, Lauren takes a few seconds.
“The protocol you're describing isn't complicated, and it could actually be pretty useful if the board approves it.
What concerns me more is locker room support.
If any player feels there's a conflict of interest that's affecting her negatively in some way, you could have a problem with the league or the players' union.”
“Will you take the case?”
“Diana, for God's sake. We were married for twelve years, and we have two kids together. Of course I'll take it, even though you're the most stubborn person I've ever met.”
I let out a long breath of relief.
“Thank you. I'll pay you whatever you say.”
“We'll sort that out later. I want to see you tomorrow at nine at my office. Bring Mireya; she needs to weigh in on a few points too. And bring coffee, because the machine at the firm is terrible.”
“Nine o'clock.”
“Take care of yourself,” she says before hanging up.