Chapter 24
CAYDEN
Yesterday’s trip to New York and the Scottish whiskey are taking their toll—a heavy, leaden feeling in my limbs that I try to ignore while sitting in Hayes’ office downtown.
I lower my hand, sliding my phone a bit further into my palm under the edge of the massive glass table.
My thumb swipes over the display. No new messages.
Jade’s name remains at the top of my chat list, accompanied by a paralyzing silence.
I called her twice this morning. Both times she sent me straight to voicemail.
She’s ignoring me while I sit here trying to pull a billion-dollar project over the finish line.
"The North Stand will be named after Tech-Cor," Elias Hayes’ loud voice pulls me from my thoughts.
He taps the cap of his gold fountain pen on the large-scale blueprint spread out between us.
Hayes wears a pinstripe suit and shows off his snow-white teeth.
"They’re paying triple the usual sum for naming rights," Hayes continues, drawing a red line across the paper.
"In exchange, they demand exclusive access to the VIP lounges on the second tier.
And we have to increase the parking capacity under the south wing to at least five thousand spaces.
My investors don't want to see traffic jams on the access roads when the stadium opens. "
I lean back in the ergonomic leather chair and cross my arms. "Five thousand underground spaces will eat the budget for the ventilation systems in the main building.
The plot won't allow that depth without risking the foundations of the old harbor district.
We stay at three thousand spaces and build an intelligent shuttle system from the center.
The fans want a modern experience, not a two-hour hunt for a spot in an underground bunker. "
Hayes slowly sets the pen down. He rests his forearms on the table, laces his manicured fingers together, and locks his gray eyes on me. The smiling facade crumbles for a moment, revealing the predatory capitalist beneath.
"You know, Cayden," he begins, his tone becoming almost fatherly. "Let’s push these technical details aside for now. We’re stopping the deep planning. My people in the wings are getting increasingly nervous."
I force myself to return his gaze without a blink. "The building permits are as good as through. The Royals are having an outstanding season. There is no logical reason for nervous investors."
"Oh, there is," Hayes counters softly. He leans back, smoothing the lapel of his jacket.
"Money is loose, but none of these people throw half a billion dollars into a project led by a man whose public reputation is still... let’s say, unpredictable.
We formulated this condition clearly from the start.
I need that profile in the Chronicle. I need the guarantee that the city of Montreal celebrates you as its prodigal son again, not as the scandal-ridden pro from back then. "
He makes a short, calculated pause to let the weight of his words sink in. "Until that article is printed and delivers exactly what we agreed upon, not another cent flows into the planning. If the profile flops or Miss Sterling pokes too deep into old wounds, I’m pulling my people out entirely."
A knot tightens in my stomach. If Hayes drops out, it’s not just the stadium construction that bursts. The preliminary contracts with the construction firms are signed; the claims would eat my entire remaining fortune and drive the Royals into bankruptcy.
"The feature will be a total success," I say. My voice carries not a hint of my internal tension. I’m selling him the biggest lie of my life without flinching.
"Sterling and I are working extremely productively. She has unrestricted access; the interviews are going excellently. The first draft is practically in the press, and the direction is entirely positive. She’s eating out of my hand. "
Hayes studies me for a long time. He searches for cracks in my claim, for sweat on my brow that might betray me. Finally, he gives a short nod, a joyless smile appearing on his face.
"I’m glad to hear it, Cayden. Truly. I always read the Chronicle very closely. Don't disappoint me."