28. Griffin #2
I lead the group through the mansion’s twisting corridors, past priceless art and gaudy displays of wealth. The farther we go, the more I recognize from that night. The night Wilde sent Anika down that tunnel. How things have changed since then.
“There.” I point to an ornate door at the end of a hallway. “He’s in there.”
We approach quietly, and I press my ear against the door. Paper shredding. Furious typing. Muttered curses.
I look back at my friends, all wearing identical expressions of determination, and nod. Then I throw open the door.
Malcolm Chase stands over a paper shredder, feeding documents into it like he’s Oliver Freaking North. A computer screen flickers with deletion progress bars. He freezes mid-shred, face pale as fourteen people and one bird file into his study, forming a semicircle around his desk.
“Going somewhere, Malcolm?” I ask pleasantly.
His eyes dart between us and the bookcase against the far wall.
“What is the meaning of this?” he sputters, dropping the papers and adjusting his silk robe like we’ve interrupted his morning tea rather than his crime spree. “This is a private residence!”
Only then does he recognize everyone wearing Titans jerseys. “Jablonski? O’Malley? Ellis?” Then his eyes narrow on me. “And you, McGregor. What the hell are you doing in my home?”
“What am I doing? Well, let’s see.” I tap my stick against my palm. “First, I won back the money you stole from investors. And now, I’m here to watch you get arrested.”
Malcolm inches toward the bookcase as he speaks. “This vendetta against me is absurd. I’ve only ever acted in the best interests of the Toronto Titans.”
“Is that why you created a Ponzi scheme disguised as team stock?” Owen asks.
“Or why you’ve been siphoning money into offshore accounts for years?” Hendrix adds.
“This is absurd.” Chase tries to regain his composure. “I’m a respected businessman.”
“Not for much longer,” Mikael says, expression cold.
“You underpaid the female staff for years,” Hannah says.
“Just ask Nancy Lambert,” Emily adds.
Malcolm scoffs. “Nancy Lambert is in jail, where she belongs. My lawyers will have this sorted by lunch.”
“I’d like to see them try.” Siobhan steps forward, tablet in hand. “I’ve accessed your encrypted servers. All eighteen of them, including the ones in the Caymans you thought were untraceable.”
Malcolm pales. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I sent copies to the FIS, FBI, CSA, and NHL Commissioner’s office,” she continues. “Oh, and I tweeted your offshore account numbers. They’re trending.”
Sawyer grins at his sister. “She’s wicked smart.”
Uncle Whitey laughs, adjusting his flat cap. “Listen here, ya posh eejit. I’ve been runnin’ circles around the Garda since before ye were in short pants, and even I know better than to keep incriminatin’ evidence in me own feckin’ house!”
Otto squawks from Maggie’s shoulder: “Busted, nerd!”
Malcolm jumps. “What the hell is that?”
“This is Otto. He’s an African Grey parrot,” Maggie says proudly. “And he catches bad guys for kicks and giggles.”
Malcolm’s composure cracks. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“Actually, we do,” Kevin says, clicking his tongue. “A greedy man, who thought he could steal from hockey fans.”
“Bad idea,” Coach Knight adds, tapping his stick against the floor. “Very bad idea.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Malcolm snarls. “I have connections.”
“Are you sure about that?” Emily chirps. “I just checked my phone. The NHL Board of Governors has called an emergency meeting. You’re about to be the former owner of the Toronto Titans.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
Uncle Whitey shakes his head. “Oh, shut yer gob, ya manky wee scrote. Ye wouldn’t last one day in Southie.”
“We have the transaction records,” I say. “Every dollar you siphoned from investors, including your players.”
“And the emails,” Siobhan adds. “The ones where you called the players ‘overpaid muscle with the collective IQ of a hockey puck.’”
Owen gestures to everyone present, still recording on his GoPro. “That’s funny, because this overpaid muscle just helped take down your empire.”
Mikael crosses his arms across his chest. “I spent six years as captain watching you squeeze every dollar from this team while paying female staff half what they deserve.”
“I have no control over the going wage in Canada,” Malcolm spits.
“How about we let the public decide?” Hannah chimes in. “Your social media nightmare starts in approximately three minutes.”
“You people have no clue about running a multi-million-dollar sports franchise,” Malcolm sputters.
Coach Knight laughs. “Son, I’ve spent decades managing team budgets on a shoestring. I understand enough to know when someone’s skimming off the top.”
“The lockout was just a distraction,” Liam realizes aloud. “You needed time to move assets offshore before anyone noticed.”
“You orchestrated everything,” Emily observes. “The CBA negotiations, the NHLPA. You poked the bear.”
Chase inches toward the bookcase, trying to be subtle. “This is preposterous. I demand you all leave immediately.”
“Looking for your escape tunnel?” I ask quietly. “The one behind the bookcase?”
Malcolm makes a break for it, lunging toward the bookcase and yanking on a disguised lever. The shelves swing open with a mechanical hum, revealing a dimly lit corridor.
He darts inside, only to crash directly into Showalter and two FIS agents coming the other way. They pull Malcolm back into the study.
“Malcolm Chase,” Showalter says, handcuffs already out. “You’re under arrest for securities fraud, embezzlement, money laundering, conspiracy to defraud, and operating a criminal enterprise across international borders.”
“Nobody makes a fool of me,” he spits, glaring at me.
I can’t help but smile. “You’ve done a good job of that yourself.”
Uncle Whitey chuckles while helping himself to Malcolm’s cigars. “In the old country, we at least had the decency to be proper criminals.”
“Thank you, Uncle Whitey,” Sawyer says. “That’s quite enough from you.”
Chase glowers at Whitey and Sawyer as the agent secures his wrists behind his back.
“Your assets have been frozen,” Showalter informs him. “Your accounts are being audited as we speak.”
“I want my lawyer,” Chase mutters.
“That can be arranged,” Showalter says, nodding to his agents. “But you should know we’ve already raided your Toronto offices and residence simultaneously. We have everything.”
“We’ll need statements from all of you,” Showalter says to our group.
As Chase is led away, he stops beside me. “This isn’t over, McGregor.”
“Actually, it is,” I reply with a grin. “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.”
I’ve always wanted to say that.
As the agents march him toward the door, Malcolm looks back at us with pure hatred.
Uncle Whitey offers a cheerful little wave goodbye. “Don’t drop the soap, ya donkey!” he calls after them.
We all watch Malcolm get escorted out, and suddenly the victory high fades into something else. We all exchange awkward glances, the same question hanging in the air.
“So…what happens to the Titans now?” Owen finally asks, voicing what we’re all thinking.
Reality starts sinking in.
“The league will probably appoint some interim management group,” Coach Knight says, running a hand through his silver hair. “Seen it before when owners get into trouble.”
“What if they relocate the team?” Emily asks, glancing worriedly at Owen. “It’s happened before.”
Hendrix looks like he’s about to hyperventilate. “Are we about to be sold to some random billionaire who’ll move us to somewhere in the desert?”
Colette places a hand on his arm to settle him. “That’s not going to happen.”
“They can’t move the Titans,” I protest. “Toronto’s hockey town.”
Sawyer nods. “The fan base is too strong. But there’s still going to be chaos.”
“What about our contracts?” Kevin asks quietly. “If there’s no owner…”
“League honors them,” Coach Knight assures him. “But it’ll be a mess for a while.”
A somber silence falls over the group. We’d taken down a criminal but possibly put our team’s future in jeopardy.
“Actually,” Mikael clears his throat, “I’ve been thinking, and I came up with…an idea you might think is nuts.” He holds his hands up like he’s about to propose something crazy. “But, hear me out first.”