Chapter 50
Antonio
“Imade a lapse in judgment that caused harm, and I regret my actions. I take full responsibility. I deeply regret my decision. My actions were my own and do not reflect the values of Maple King. I am sincerely sorry.”
Kieran’s chin quivers. He hangs his head, crumpling under the spotlight.
“I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I hope to earn it.”
He sobs.
Punk ass.
“I’m so sorry,” he says through a hiccup.
“How many times have you watched that video?”
“Not enough. Dickhead could fit three marbles inside each nostril with all the hollering he’s doing.” I kiss Miriam’s smile and put away my phone.
Her pops threw down the gauntlet at Maple King two weeks ago. Executives wasted no time tossing Kieran in front of the cameras for a public apology. It’s all bullshit. The only reason he’s sobbing like he’s on an Oprah special is because they hung his ass out to dry.
His reputation is dead—his and his raggedy-ass parents, who encouraged their son to steal from a woman who rejected him.
I still want to put his head through a wall, but I’m happy the apology was public.
Kieran kept Miriam’s name out of his mouth at her father’s request. She doesn’t want to be tied to any scandals.
As far as I’m concerned, Kieran can spend his days hiding under whatever rock he crawled to after leaving Buffalo.
I damn near shit out my guts when she told me about meeting up with him to get his admission on tape.
The president of Maple King released a statement after firing Kieran, and agreed to erase Miriam’s concept to save face and their government contracts.
That didn’t stop Reese from contacting her investigative journalist friend.
Wouldn’t you know it, she uncovered a trend of predatory business practices.
Those government contracts? Gone.
Doe will refine her urban farming concept for submission to the patent office.
She caught an attitude after I purchased the software and licenses she’ll need for her research.
I’ll be damned if I let anyone take advantage of her again.
Julian, my parents, and I pitched in with seed money to get her STEM hub off the ground at the community center.
Even her pops donated, which helped to heal some of the tension between them.
I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting her dad while he was up here, but I look forward to meeting him when the Steel play DC in a couple of weeks.
“You’ll be okay over here?” I kiss Miriam’s forehead for the third time, rubbing circles into her shoulders, which are covered in a blouse that has more ruffles than Prince had in his closet. I don’t mean to stare, but damn.
I’m no authority on the dress code for press conferences, but my baby might have be okay with looking like the Quaker Oats man.
“Do you think this is too much?” She motions to the curtain of fabric on her chest.
Don’t say it.
“Truth?” I wince, then attempt a recovery. “Someone might think you ripped the drapes off your windows, but you’re gorgeous, baby. Look at it this way, you already have a costume for Hallow—”
“So help me God, if you say Prince…”
“I was actually thinking Penguins of Madagascar.” Not helping! “I’ll go now.”
“You do that,” she growls.
“It’s not bad!”
My steps are cautious, but I give her a quick peck on the cheek before I take off for the stage.
“Ready?” Marcela asks.
“Let’s do this.” I shake hands with Coach Washington, who comes up the stairs in khakis, a polo, and boat shoes.
“Taking the yacht out after this?” I tease.
“Not all of us enjoy suits.” He eyes my black slacks and Italian shoes, which are shined for my close-up. My dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top so my gold cross can shine.
Everything is falling into place. There’s just one more piece.
Attorney General Kennedy Richards steps to the podium with a fresh press, buttoning a light gray suit. She scans the room with a silent authority emphasized by the shift of her hips.
Her tone is a smooth alto with zero tolerance for bullshit.
“Good morning. Your attendance is appreciated.
My office has initiated an investigation into allegations of misconduct and fraud within the Buffalo Revival Department, including real estate developers who have benefited from exclusive contracts through campaign contributions to the current administration.
“As your attorney general, it is my duty to protect our state from fraudulent, deceptive, and illegal practices. We will withhold details to investigate without prejudice while we determine whether charges and other disciplinary measures are necessary at its conclusion.”
She steps aside for Marcela and the City Council president. Big sis is fit for war in her plum suit. I’ve never seen the council president before. Judging by the sweat beading at the top of his balding head, he doesn’t want to be here.
“In light of the recent investigation, City Council passed a resolution to place a moratorium on the sale of vacant lots across the East Side of Buffalo,” Council President Gallagher recites like he practiced in the mirror.
“We’ve heard the concerns of residents”—he looks to Marcela—“and Councilmember Beckford to make development more equitable. We will conduct a series of public hearings over the course of the next two months to develop a strategic plan that considers all city residents.”
“For years, community members have questioned who truly benefits from Buffalo’s revival,” Marcela says to the cameras and attendees. “We’ve questioned why the same corporations get to build houses across the city, houses that are neither affordable nor accessible to everyday Buffalonians.”
“That’s right!” an elder shouts.
“City Hall continues to operate through business-as-usual practices while passing off the buck. I applaud the attorney general for investigating the Buffalo Revival Department, an office chaired by our current mayor, with campaign contributors who have deep pockets and vested interest in seeing their projects thrive. Today, we say the buck stops here. It’s high time City Hall works for the people, not the corporations that line their pockets.
I look forward to working with my colleagues on City Council.
We need more public servants to do what’s right, even if it takes them a while to get there. ”
Mitchell Library erupts in applause. Marcela claims she has no interest in being mayor—“too many people are in my business already,” she tells Miriam—but she sounds like the leader we need.
“We’ll now hear from Bryan McCaw, Commissioner of the Rugby League of America.” Marcela makes room for Coach Washington and I to take our places behind him at the podium.
“Thank you, councilmember,” McCaw says, a touch of his Scottish accent peeking out.
“In light of an internal investigation into the practices of Buffalo Steel owner Frank Mancini and the violation of league rules, the RLA is exercising its right as the governing body to issue an interim owner, effective immediately. Temporary management will run through the remainder of the year. Mancini, who also owns Hunter Development Corporation, which is being investigated, has agreed to sell the franchise after failing to cooperate with our probe. We hope to announce a new owner by the new year, and we look forward to seeing the Steel compete in the playoffs.”
Who owns who now?
What I would’ve paid to see the smirk wiped off Mancini’s face. It’s too bad I couldn’t see it in person. Guess who fled to Florida?
Whispers of his alleged involvement with the mayor in corruption and uncovering irregularities in his accounts fueled the RLA to take immediate action.
I didn’t think we’d see the day. The media has been running with the story since the RLA’s decision earlier this week, and they’re shining a light on the lack of a players’ union, minimal healthcare coverage and benefits, and low wages.
Will all of that change tomorrow? I doubt it, but it’s a start.
The press conference concludes. I make a beeline for Miriam and get intercepted by a five-foot-six ball of sunshine in box braids.
“We have you set up in the resource room. PSN has twenty minutes—no questions off-limits, per your request. But I’ll be there in case there’s something you don’t want to answer. Just be yourself—”
“Reese?”
She nods. “Sorry. You got it.”
“I was going to say thank you for what you did for Miriam. I appreciate you looking out for her.”
“Oh, it was nothing.” She dismisses my gratitude with a hand but offers a smile. “The Steel have become family, and Miriam is a friend. It wasn’t right what happened, and Dickhead deserved what he got.”
“Am I rubbing off on you, Reese?” I chuckle.
“A good girl never tells.” She winks and skips over to Miriam, all but tackling her in a hug.
A tornado of white and yellow ruffles spins in squeals. Reese rubbed off on Miriam. Doe wore that Victorian-era top on her own, but she laughs harder and smiles wider whenever Reese is around.
I drop a kiss onto Miriam’s cheek. “I gotta do an interview. See you over there?”
“I’ll come with Reese in a sec.”
It takes a few handshakes and photos to reach the resource room.
“Ready for your close-up?” Kenya tucks her hair behind her ear and stands from one of the two chairs in the middle of the small room. Two cameramen maneuver around short bookcases, setting up lights and microphones.
“Yup.” I step back when she reaches for my arm. A frown draws her brows together.
We get mic’d up and take our places in front of three cameras. After a sound check, Kenya motions to start.
“Thank you for joining us, Antonio. It’s been quite a month since we last saw you on the pitch,” she says, her eyes steady, with no hints of softballs. Her legs cross in a knee-length blue dress. “How is the team handling the recent development with the ownership?”
“We’re rolling with the punches, but we’re happy things are finally coming to light,” I say honestly.
“I can’t speak for other teams, but when we play at a certain level, we hope the higher-ups match that energy with equal investment.
That hasn’t been the case. Hopefully, what happened to us will set a precedent moving forward. ”
“You’ve been noticeably absent on the field. There’s been lots of speculation about the reason you haven’t started the last three games. Some reports allege disputes with the coaching staff. Others, the team. Care to set the record straight?”
I run a hand down my beard. “It’s crazy how quickly the media turns on you based on assumptions. I consider myself to be a team player and a good captain. I respect my coaches, and I love being part of the Steel. I’m not a perfect man, but I am my parents’ child at the end of the day.”
Kenya leans forward. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve never been with the bullshit,” I say.
“Frank Mancini’s development corporation had ties to a company that took something important from someone I care about.
We exchanged words, and I sat out from there.
What was done in the dark is coming to light.
Quite frankly, I hope he gets everything he deserves.
“Mancini is vile, and he never cared about the team, in my opinion.” I look directly into the camera. “He once told me, ‘I own you, boy.’ Karma isn’t the only one who proved to be a bitch.”
Reese will have my ass for this, but she’ll survive.
“Well, then!” Kenya snaps her fingers. “You heard it here first. Now that we cleared that up, let’s talk about what’s next. The Steel are the front-runners to win the playoffs, with eight consecutive wins under your belt. Any plans you care to share if you come out victorious?”
I smile at Miriam when she walks in. “Yeah. I’m going to the Space Center with this one. Come here, Doe.”
Kenya frowns when her eyes land on Miriam. “Who is this?”
“My future wife,” I say, pulling Miriam to sit in my lap. She’s a deer caught in headlights, likely because of all those damn ruffles on her blouse. “You interested in a trip to Houston?” I wrap my arms around her and kiss her lips.
“I’d like that, but I think our steak dinner at Amato’s is in order first.” The grin she aims up at me stirs inside my chest.
“Okay. How long has this been going on?” Kenya asks, doing her best to recover.
My eyes stay on my best friend, my forever.
“You could say I’ve loved her all of my life, even when I didn’t think I deserved her, or that she would give me a chance.
We’ve been friends for years, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have a partner who’s kind, brilliant, and my favorite person.
There is one question I never asked you, Doe. ”
Her eyes turn into saucers.
“Not that—not yet.” I pull a sheet of paper from my pocket with a laugh. “You getting this on camera, Kenya?”
At her nod, I unfold the crinkled white page and hold it up. It reads, “Will you go out with me?” with a “yes,” “no,” and “maybe” box.
Miriam snorts at the Brown Sugar reference. Her laughter shakes her ruffles and tints her cheeks pink. “I cannot believe you.”
“You gonna answer me in front of America?”
“Yes.” She smiles. “Always yes.”