Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sloane
The boardroom smells like old money and fresh blood.
Every chair is filled. Phones silenced. Suits pressed to perfection.
No one speaks above a whisper, but the tension could fracture bone.
I sit at the head of the table, hands folded in front of me, expression carved from stone.
My heart is a thunderclap in my chest.
They know.
Tessa sent the recording to the board’s general counsel last night. By midnight, the chair called an emergency meeting. No time for strategy. No space for spin. Just damage control with teeth.
The glass door hisses open.
Dean walks in like he owns the room. Shoulders square, jaw tight, expression unreadable.
He doesn't even glance at me as he takes his seat, like we’re on the same team.
God, he’s smug.
Chairman Weatherby clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming on short notice. We have a serious matter to address regarding a violation of trust at the executive level.”
He nods to the compliance officer, who clicks a button on her laptop.
My heart’s pounding in my ears knowing what’s coming next. I flex my fingers around the handle of my chair, the fury I felt the night I heard it coming back to me.
The audio plays.
Dean’s voice crackles over the speaker system. “It’s already in motion, Joshua. The moment it hits, they’ll both be radioactive. Carrington loses her leverage, and Maddox takes the hit. Exactly what we wanted.”
Murmurs ripple through the room.
“Unbelievable.”
“Jesus Christ, what next?”
Dean’s still, feigning composure.
The recording continues, Joshua Leonard’s voice next. Arrogant. Cruel. “So we both get what we want. The vet spot opens back up, and your boss gets dragged down by her sins. Perfect, huh?”
The file ends in silence.
Weatherby leans forward, his voice calm but deadly. “Mr. Ward, do you deny that is your voice on the recording?”
Dean’s jaw flexes. “It’s been taken out of context.”
“I think the context is clear,” I say, voice smooth as a scalpel. “You conspired with a player from another team to destabilize both our franchise and the reputation of one of our top athletes. You leaked confidential information to the press, and you did it without notifying counsel or the board.”
His eyes finally meet mine. “You knew about Boston. You should’ve told them first.”
“I did. And I handled it according to legal and internal compliance. What I didn’t do,” I say, voice rising, “was weaponize it for personal gain.”
He scoffs, low and bitter. “You’re acting like you didn’t sleep with him.”
More murmurs spread around the room.
I don’t flinch, but the jab hits. “My private life has nothing to do with this situation, Dean. You’re on trial for violating your fiduciary duty and exposing this organization to legal risk. So answer the board—or don’t. Either way, you’re done here.”
He looks at Weatherby. “So that’s it? I don’t get to explain?”
“Mr. Ward,” the chairman says evenly, “we’re not here to discuss your personal grievances. We’re here because you acted with gross misconduct and undermined the ethical integrity of this organization. This board operates on trust. And you shattered it.”
Dean glances around the room, but no one meets his eye.
He’s alone. And he knows it.
“So, that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You’re going to let this woman take down the team? You need me.”
Weatherby straightens his glasses, ignoring Dean’s outburst. “The bylaws are clear. Mr. Ward’s behavior constitutes gross misconduct. As chair, I motion for immediate termination of his employment. All in favor?”
Every hand but Dean’s goes up.
My stomach doesn’t lurch. My hands don’t shake. I am ice. Precision. Discipline.
But inside? I am fury restrained by protocol.
Weatherby nods. “Effective immediately, Mr. Ward, your badge is deactivated. Security will escort you out.”
Dean stands, fists clenched, and for a moment I see the real man beneath the polish.
Petty. Entitled. Mean.
“I hope he was worth it,” he spits. “Because this team? It’s not making the playoffs without him. And then you’re going to lose everything, Carrington.”
I meet his glare head-on. “This franchise has survived worse than your ego. I promise you, we will survive this.”
Continuing to hold Dean’s hateful glare, I address the large man standing at the door. “Please see that Mr. Ward leaves his computer and phone on his desk on his way out.”
Security steps in. He doesn’t fight it. Just throws me one last look before disappearing out the door.
The board turns to me like wolves circling the next course.
But I don't flinch.
I lift my chin, fold my hands, and brace for whatever comes next.
Let them come for me. I’ve already lost the only thing that mattered.
I’m back in the same seat a few hours later.
Different meeting, same battlefield. Only this time, I’m on the same side as the Vipers board as we face two Boston executives and their lawyer.
There’s also a league lawyer and a couple of assistants trying to look useful while pretending not to eavesdrop.
Dean’s chair is empty.
On purpose.
“Let the record reflect that Dean Ward has been relieved of his duties effective immediately,” Chairman Weatherby says, voice like gravel.
Boston’s legal rep—a trim man with wire-rimmed glasses and a permanent scowl—doesn’t even nod. “We appreciate the prompt action. That said, the leak still occurred. And the resulting fallout has damaged the reputation of not only Mr. Leonard, but the Boston Freeze organization.”
Joshua’s name lands like a weight on the table. I glance to an empty seat next to the executives. The seat Joshua should be occupying.
Typical. Cowards never show up when it’s time to face consequences.
“Our concern,” the second Boston exec adds, “is less about the contents of the leak and more about how it originated. If internal Vipers personnel were actively conspiring with a player from our roster to—”
“That individual has been terminated,” I cut in, voice sharp. “Dean Ward acted alone and against direct policy. I’ve already made that clear.”
“Be that as it may,” Boston’s lawyer says, “Mr. Leonard’s involvement still raises questions.”
I lean forward, palms flat on the table. “Then perhaps you should ask yourselves why Mr. Leonard is still skating on your top line instead of being suspended pending review. Because what’s not going to happen here is Boston trying to pin its internal rot on my franchise.”
The man’s mouth tightens. “With respect, Ms. Carrington—”
“No,” I interrupt, cool and exact. “With respect, you’re here pointing fingers while your player openly conspired to take out a member of my roster and destabilize my leadership. You want transparency? Try accountability first.”
Murmurs ripple around the table.
Miriam—one of the older holdouts from my father’s era—gives me a rare approving glance.
“You want assurances? Start with your own house. My franchise took action. Yours rewarded the leak with first-line minutes.”
Boston’s lawyer nervously clears his throat. “The league would prefer to avoid public litigation against the Vipers. However, we’re asking for assurances that internal leaks won’t happen again. Your franchise isn’t in a position to withstand another scandal.”
That part’s aimed at me.
I nod once. “Understood. We’ve already tightened our internal security protocols. Perhaps the Freeze should do the same. You’ll receive our written agreement by end of day. Assuming all parties are satisfied, I believe we can call this closed.”
Boston’s execs gather their notes and leave without another word.
When the door shuts behind them, the silence is thick.
Chairman Weatherby rubs a hand down his jaw. “You handled that well, Ms. Carrington. Your father would be proud.”
The mention of my father is like a sucker punch to the gut.
It’s the first time anyone in his circle has given me any credit.
It feels like a victory. Or, at least, it should.
But it tastes like ash.
Because it doesn’t matter.
I still have my team, but it doesn’t mean anything without Maddox.