Chapter Fourteen Mason Reed
The Seat Had a Name and a Threat
Mason Reed had always believed a guest list was one of the least intimidating objects in sport, somewhere below fruit trays and branded lanyards, but that was before a man with an old key, a stolen photo, and a public grudge bought four seats to a charity event under a company name that felt like a threat in a blazer.
R. V. Holdings.
Mason stared at the laptop screen.
The name sat in the ticket system like it had every right to be there.
Four sponsor-adjacent seats.
Purchased yesterday.
Before Ryan’s public post.
Before the Blades’ clean statement.
Before Graham supposedly made it clear Ryan was not welcome.
Billie stood beside the table, one hand gripping the back of a chair. Her face was calm. Too calm. The Ice Queen version, the one the internet had named without understanding that sometimes ice was not attitude.
Sometimes it was containment.
Harper’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. “I checked the purchase details. Payment processed through a business card. Billing contact is listed as Robert Vane Holdings, but the email is a generic admin address created last week.”
Mason’s jaw tightened. “R. V. Holdings.”
“Could be nothing,” Harper said.
Billie looked at her.
Harper winced. “Right. It is never nothing anymore.”
“Phone number?” Billie asked.
“Unlisted. Fake formatting. Address is a serviced office in Parramatta.”
“Refund the tickets.”
Harper nodded. “Already queued. I wanted approval before processing.”
“Approved.”
Mason watched Billie’s thumb press into the chair back until her knuckle whitened.
No knuckles, he reminded himself.
Apparently the rule applied to both of them now.
Harper clicked through the system. “Refund issued. Seats released.”
Billie’s breath eased a fraction.
Then Harper’s screen refreshed.
Her face changed.
“What?” Mason asked.
“The seats were just purchased again.”
Billie went still.
Mason stepped closer to the table.
Harper clicked fast. “Different name. Same seat block. Wattle Harbour Consulting.”
Billie’s eyes sharpened. “That’s one of Ryan’s old fake invoices.”
Harper froze. “What?”
Billie released the chair and leaned over the laptop.
“When I fired him, I found a vendor payment request for Wattle Harbour Consulting. Event support services. No ABN, no proper contact, no service record. Ryan claimed it was for a contractor who helped with sponsor signage. It was one of the reasons I started checking the cash drawer more closely.”
Mason’s blood went cold.
“So he’s telling you it’s him,” he said.
Billie’s gaze lifted to his.
“Yes,” she said. “He is.”
The meeting room door opened.
Mark Delaney walked in with Graham Vale on speakerphone before anyone had the chance to soften their faces.
“Billie,” Mark said, “Graham says Ryan is denying involvement.”
“Of course he is,” Billie said.
Graham’s voice came through the phone, controlled and strained. “I was told a set of tickets may be connected to Ryan. He says he has no ticket and no intention of attending.”
Harper turned the laptop toward Mark. “He just repurchased refunded seats under Wattle Harbour Consulting.”
Silence.
Then Graham said, “Damn it.”
Billie’s brows lifted slightly.
Mason guessed Graham Vale did not lose polish often.
Good.
Let the man feel some consequences.
Mark picked up the phone and set it on the table. “Graham, you’re on speaker with Billie, Harper, and Mason.”
Another pause.
“Mason,” Graham said.
“Mr Vale,” Mason replied, even though he currently wanted to say several things Sophie would describe as unhelpful.
Graham cleared his throat. “Wattle Harbour Consulting is connected to Ryan.”
Billie’s face hardened. “You knew?”
“I knew there had been an old issue. I did not know he would be foolish enough to use it here.”
Evie’s voice came from the hallway. “He’s not foolish, he’s smug!”
Billie turned. “Evie.”
Evie stepped into the doorway with both hands raised. “Sorry. Acoustics.”
Behind her, Nate whispered, “Infrastructure supports truth.”
Theo appeared behind Nate and put one hand on his shoulder. “Stop helping.”
Graham’s voice tightened. “Is half the rink listening?”
Billie said, “Apparently.”
Coach Alby’s voice floated from somewhere behind them. “I’m not half.”
Billie closed her eyes for one second.
Mason had the absurd urge to smile.
This place was chaos under pressure, but it was not careless chaos. It was a family gathering at the door because one of their own had been threatened and nobody trusted walls to carry enough support.
Billie opened her eyes. “Graham, Ryan cannot attend Friday. Not under his name, not under a business name, not as a sponsor guest, not through a proxy.”
“I agree.”
“Good. We need written confirmation from Vale Community Partners that any ticket connected to Ryan or his entities should be voided, and that you will cover professional security for the event separately from the donation match.”
Another silence.
Mark looked at Billie with the expression of a man watching a high-wire act over unpaid invoices.
Graham said, “Security?”
“Yes.”
“That seems excessive.”
Mason’s temper sparked.
Billie’s voice went colder. “A former staff member with an old access badge, a history of boundary issues, and a personal grievance has now attempted to buy seats under at least two names after being told he is not authorised to attend. He has posted public comments targeting me and private information from inside this building. Security is not excessive. It is overdue.”
The room went silent again.
Mason stared at her.
So did everyone else.
Billie did not bend.
Graham exhaled. “You’re right.”
Mark’s eyebrows jumped.
Evie whispered, “Frame the day.”
Nate whispered, “The Ice Queen reigns.”
Theo whispered, “Quiet.”
Graham continued, “Vale will cover professional security as a separate event expense. Send me the provider details.”
Billie nodded once. “Thank you.”
“And Billie?”
“Yes?”
“I should have dealt with Ryan’s behaviour more firmly when he was fired.”
Billie’s face did not move.
Mason saw the impact anyway.
Tiny.
Deep.
“Yes,” she said. “You should have.”
No gratitude for the late confession.
No soft landing.
Just truth.
Graham took it. “I’m sorry.”
Billie’s jaw worked once. “Thank you.”
The call ended a minute later with Graham agreeing to send written authorisation, Mark agreeing to contact a security firm, and Harper agreeing to set ticket system alerts for any suspicious repurchases.
The door stayed full of people.
Billie looked toward it. “Everyone can stop pretending not to listen.”
Evie entered first, which surprised no one. “Great, because I have feelings.”
“No,” Billie said.
“Yes.” Evie came around the table and wrapped both arms around Billie from the side before Billie could dodge.
Billie froze.
Mason looked away because the moment felt private.
But not before he saw Billie’s face crack open for half a second.
Not crying.
Not smiling.
Just receiving something she had not asked for and maybe needed anyway.
Evie squeezed hard. “I hate him. I hate that you had to keep being professional about him. I hate that Graham acted like being rich made Ryan less gross.”
Billie’s hand came up slowly and patted Evie’s arm. Awkwardly. Lovingly. “That was a lot of hate in one sentence.”
“I’m efficient.”
Nate stepped in behind them. “Team hates him too.”
Billie narrowed her eyes. “The team is not committing violence.”
Nate looked offended. “I said hate, not legally actionable behaviour.”
Theo said, “Important distinction.”
Alby entered with his coffee. “Security handles Friday. Team handles hockey.”
“Thank you,” Billie said.
Alby grunted. “You handled the sponsor.”
That was Alby for excellent work and possibly I am emotionally affected.
Billie understood. Mason could see that she did.
Harper cleared her throat. “Tickets under Wattle Harbour Consulting are refunded. I added a manual review flag to all purchases in that seat section.”
Mark returned from the hallway. “Security can send two licensed guards Friday afternoon through dinner. Graham approved the cost.”
Billie straightened. Evie’s arms fell away.
“Good,” Billie said, voice fully back in command. “Then we keep going.”
Of course she did.
Mason watched her turn to the whiteboard and add:
Security confirmed. Ticket review active. Ryan not admitted. Sponsor written confirmation pending.
Her handwriting was still neat.
How did a person stay that steady?
No.
Wrong question.
How long could a person stay that steady before something in them finally demanded to be held?
Mason looked away before the thought got too intimate.
Harper’s phone buzzed.
Everyone froze.
Harper checked it and let out a breath. “Not bad. Hoodie pre-orders hit five hundred.”
Billie stared. “Five hundred?”
“Five hundred and twelve.”
Evie’s mouth dropped open. “That’s more hoodies than people who showed up to my school formal.”
Nate patted her shoulder. “Were you wearing kangaroo feet then too?”
“Only emotionally.”
Max burst into the doorway holding a homework folder. “Did we defeat capitalism?”
Billie pointed at him. “Why are you still here?”
“My mum is helping with donor cards.”
“Your mum is a saint with concerning trust in this building.”
Max nodded. “She says the same about you.”
Billie blinked.
A small silence followed.
Mason had the feeling Max’s mum had just scored a clean shot through more armour than anyone expected.
Billie looked down at the table. “Tell her thank you.”
Max grinned. “Can I tell her you said she’s a saint?”
“Yes.”
“With concerning trust?”
“No.”
He sighed. “Adults ruin quotes.”
Harper smiled at the laptop. “Hoodie proceeds after costs could add six to seven thousand to the fund if pre-orders hold.”
The room went soft.
Even Mark stopped checking his phone.
Six to seven thousand.
On top of donations.
On top of the match.
Mason looked at Billie.
She had gone very still again, but this time it was different. Not containment. Not fear.
Hope.
Careful, reluctant hope, as if she did not want to touch it too hard in case it noticed and ran.
Mason wanted to say something.
He did not trust himself to do it in a room full of people.