Chapter Twelve Mason Reed
The Fired Nephew Felt Like a Problem
Mason Reed had spent most of his adult life learning how to read a room fast, but nothing in hockey had prepared him for the exact temperature shift that happened when Billie Hartley looked at an old staff badge and said, “After I fired him.”
The meeting room seemed to lose oxygen.
Mason looked from the photo on Billie’s phone to her face.
Ryan Vale.
Old Harbour Ice badge.
Faded logo.
Scratched name.
A torn corner of Billie’s stolen skating photo found in the archive corridor rubbish bin.
And the sponsor’s nephew.
Because apparently the universe had decided the charity fundraiser needed a villain with family connections and poor timing.
Mason kept his voice low. “Why did you fire him?”
Billie did not answer right away.
That told him enough to dislike Ryan Vale before the story even started.
She set the phone on the table, screen up, as if putting evidence between them might keep the past from reaching her.
“He worked part-time here two years ago,” she said. “Front desk, event setup, some sponsor hospitality. Graham pushed for it. Said Ryan needed structure.”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
Structure was a word people used when they meant someone else’s workplace could absorb a problem.
Billie continued, voice even. “He was charming when he wanted to be. Good with sponsors. Bad with boundaries. Worse with women who did not laugh at him.”
Mason’s hand curled against the edge of the table.
He made it loosen.
No knuckles.
Billie saw anyway.
Of course.
“I handled it,” she said.
“I believe you.”
Her eyes lifted.
That seemed to matter.
Good.
It should.
“I warned him twice,” she continued. “Late shifts he didn’t finish.
Cash drawer errors he blamed on Evie. Comments to young staff that made them uncomfortable but were always just a joke when challenged.
Then he let three private-event guests into the rink after hours without booking, without insurance, and without staff coverage. ”
Mason went cold. “Dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“And he still had a key?”
Her mouth tightened. “He returned one.”
“One.”
“There were old access badges then. Some door codes. The archive corridor was not supposed to be accessible from his badge after termination.”
“Supposed to be.”
“Yes.”
The word landed heavily.
Billie picked up the marker and wrote on the whiteboard under PRIVATE:
RYAN VALE Former staff. Fired. Old badge found. Access? Motive? Connection to Graham.
Her handwriting stayed neat.
That almost hurt to watch.
Mason leaned back against the table. “What motive?”
She laughed once, without humour. “I fired him.”
“That’s a motive.”
“And embarrassed him.”
“Good.”
Her eyes cut to him.
He did not apologise.
She looked away first. “He thought his uncle’s sponsorship made him protected. I told him Harbour Ice was not a rich man’s nephew daycare.”
Despite everything, Mason almost smiled.
“Strong line.”
“It was stronger before Mark edited my email.”
“I’d like the unedited version.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would.”
Her mouth nearly moved.
Then the moment passed.
She looked at the badge photo again. “If Ryan is involved, we have a sponsor problem.”
“Because Graham won’t like his nephew being accused.”
“Because Graham may think I am dragging a family issue into a public event.”
Mason stared. “You’re not dragging anything. His old badge was found near a torn piece of your stolen photo.”
“We don’t know he put it there.”
“But he’s connected.”
“Yes.”
“And Graham needs to know.”
“Yes.”
Billie sounded calm.
Too calm.
Mason knew the look now. She had already moved six steps ahead and placed herself last in every scenario.
He hated it.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She capped the marker. “I’m thinking we need Mark in the room before we call Graham.
Harper needs to document chain of evidence.
Evie needs to not touch anything else. We need to secure the archive corridor, check camera footage, and confirm whether Ryan has been in the building recently before anyone says his name outside our team. ”
“Good.”
“And you need to stay out of it.”
Mason blinked. “What?”
“You need to stay out of the Ryan Vale piece.”
“That’s not happening.”
“It has to.”
“Billie.”
“No.” Her voice sharpened. “This is sponsor politics, staff history, and internal access. You are already in the middle of the public story. You cannot also be in the middle of this.”
“I’m in the middle because someone used your photo to make the public story worse.”
“And that is exactly why you have to be careful. If you start asking questions about Graham Vale’s nephew, it looks like a desperate athlete trying to protect his image by attacking the sponsor’s family.”
The words hit.
Because she was right.
Annoyingly, painfully right.
Mason looked at the whiteboard.
Ryan Vale.
Gabe.
Luca.
PuckSideDoor.
IceBetTruth.
Billie’s stolen photo.
Everything tangled around the fundraiser like skate laces in a bad knot.
He had spent years learning to force outcomes through effort. Skate harder. Train more. Shoot again. Hit back clean, then harder. But this was not a game where effort alone solved anything.
This required Billie’s kind of brain.
Systems.
Boundaries.
Patience.
God help him.
“Okay,” he said.
Billie studied him like she did not trust the ease.
Fair.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll stay out of it?”
“I’ll stay out of direct sponsor-nephew investigation.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That was very specific.”
“I’m learning from you.”
“That sounded like a loophole.”
“It was a boundary.”
“It was absolutely a loophole wearing a tie.”
His mouth almost curved. “I won’t approach Ryan. I won’t contact Graham. I won’t post, hint, threaten, glare in any publicly useful way, or become emotionally masculine near a sponsor.”
“Emotionally masculine?”
“Harper’s phrase.”
“Of course it is.”
“But if you need me to identify hockey-side amplification, public accounts, or anything tied to my agent, I help.”
Billie held his gaze.
Then nodded once. “Fine.”
The door opened before either of them could say anything else.
Evie burst in holding a plastic evidence bag that looked suspiciously like a sandwich bag and wearing the expression of a woman who had touched danger and wanted praise.
Billie’s eyes widened. “Evie, please tell me you did not put evidence in a lunch bag.”
Evie lifted her chin. “It was unused.”
“Evie.”
“I used gloves.”
Billie stared. “Why do you have gloves?”
“I work in skate rental. People have feet.”
Mason could not help it.
He laughed.
Billie turned the glare on him.
He held up a hand. “Sorry. Respectfully. Feet are compelling.”
Evie set the bag on the table. Inside were the torn photo corner and the old badge.
“I didn’t touch them after I realised,” she said, more serious now.
“I found the photo scrap first. It was under a crumpled delivery slip. Then I saw the badge wedged under the old schedule cabinet. I used a skate cloth to pull it out before I thought about fingerprints, which I now realise was perhaps not detective grade.”
Billie exhaled slowly. “You did fine.”
Evie blinked.
Billie softened by a fraction. “You did. Thank you.”
Evie looked down.
For all her chaos, she loved Billie fiercely. Mason could see it in the way her jokes stopped when the room got too sharp.
“I hate him,” Evie said.
Billie went still.
“Ryan?” Mason asked.
Evie nodded. “He made everything gross.”
Billie’s expression changed. “Evie.”
“I know. You handled it.” Evie looked at her cousin, eyes bright with anger. “You always handled it. But he made staff feel like we had to be careful in our own building, and then you fired him and everyone acted like you were dramatic because Graham was annoyed.”
Mason’s chest went tight.
There it was again.
Billie carrying the cost of doing the right thing while everyone else debated tone.
Billie looked like she wanted to shut the conversation down.
Evie did not let her.
“He told people you fired him because you couldn’t take a joke,” Evie said. “And now someone’s posting your skating photo saying you know how to perform? That sounds like him. Mean in a way that pretends it’s clever.”
Billie’s mouth tightened.
Mason watched her absorb that without flinching.
Too practiced.
Far too practiced.
“Did Ryan know about the photo?” Mason asked carefully.
Billie shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Evie hesitated.
Billie turned. “What?”
“He saw the archive once,” Evie said.
“When?”
“After Mr Hartley died. Maybe a few months after. He was supposed to help move event boxes. I remember because he made a comment about your old skating photos.”
Billie’s face went blank.
Mason went very still.
“What comment?” Billie asked.
Evie’s hands twisted in front of her. “Something like, ‘Billie used to be softer before she became rink police.’ I told him to shut up.”
Silence.
Mason had to stare at the wall for a second because the urge to become emotionally masculine near a sponsor nephew was overwhelming.
Billie only nodded.
Once.
“Okay,” she said.
Evie looked miserable. “I should have told you.”
“You just did.”
“No, back then.”
Billie’s voice stayed calm. “Back then, I had enough reasons to fire him.”
“But if he saw the photos, then he knew where they were.”
“Yes.”
Mason looked at the evidence bag.
Ryan Vale had motive, old access, knowledge of the archive, and a family connection to the sponsor currently powering the fundraiser.
That was not proof.
It was enough to be dangerous.
Harper appeared in the doorway with her laptop under one arm and Max behind her, which meant either no one in the rink understood confidentiality or Max had evolved beyond doorways.
Billie pointed. “Max, no.”
Max stopped. “I have information.”
“You have homework.”
“I finished maths.”
“Wonderful. Do English somewhere else.”
“My information is English.”
Harper winced. “He might actually be useful.”
Billie looked at the ceiling.
Mason was beginning to understand that Billie did not pray for patience. She demanded it from the architecture.
“What information?” Billie asked.
Max stepped into the room with solemn importance. “Ryan Vale commented on the Blades post from my mum’s account.”