Chapter 31
JADE
Parker bursts into the kitchen with a deafening clatter. He’s wearing his blue practice jersey over a gray hoodie, his skates dangling dangerously close to his face over his shoulder. His face glows with pure excitement.
“We’re hitting the ice!” he shouts, skidding to a halt in front of me.
Cayden enters the room seconds after my son. He’s wearing comfortable sweatpants, holding two carbon sticks in his right hand. He smiles at me, and I flinch inwardly.
Four days have passed since our night in the library.
Four days in which we’ve built a completely new, almost surreal normality.
During the day, we keep our hands off each other, maintaining a respectful distance when the staff is around, but the constant state of war has vanished.
In its place is a harmonious routine. We hand each other coffee in silence every morning, laugh at Parker’s tactical analyses during dinner, and when our eyes meet, the unspoken memory of that explosion between us sizzles.
“Don’t overdo it,” I warn them, turning back to my laptop. “Helena is bringing the cake for the visitors later. I want freshly showered hockey players at the coffee table.”
“We’ll be back on time,” Cayden promises. He taps Parker on the shoulder and nudges him toward the hallway.
As soon as the heavy front door clicks shut, the usual silence returns to the villa.
Everything in me is screaming to finally put the cards on the table.
Cayden needs to know that Parker is his son.
This massive life-lie chokes the air out of me with every carefree second the three of us spend here together.
And Hailey needs to know today that I’ve completely broken our pact from back then.
A family coffee with his parents probably isn’t the ideal time for such a bomb. But when is there ever a perfect moment to upend an entire world? I’ve been a coward, pushing this truth away for eleven years. Maybe this afternoon, I just need to stop running and finally face the consequences.
I take a deep breath, click the email program, and attach the text document.
My interim report for Tom Collins. Three thousand well-formulated words about the athletic pressure and financial responsibility of the new stadium.
No scandals. No spicy details from the past. I hit send and watch the progress bar crawl across the screen.
Less than two minutes later, my phone vibrates on the counter.
My editor-in-chief's name flashes on the display. I slide the green bar and hold the device to my ear.
“Sterling,” Collins barks without greeting. The rhythmic clacking of his keyboard echoes through the line. “I’m reading your draft. It’s a nice piece of PR poetry. Linguistically brilliant. But where the hell is the abyss? Where is the Banff scandal?”
I rest my forehead in my free hand and force my voice to stay calm. “Cayden Miller is currently a serious businessman, Tom. He’s building a billion-dollar arena. The Royals are having a stellar season. The past has no place in this context if we want an authentic portrait.”
“The past always has a place when it brings clicks,” Collins snorts. He stops typing. “Listen closely, Jade. I didn’t pick you for this job because you write pretty sentences about construction financing. Elias Hayes specifically asked for you.”
I sit bolt upright. The kitchen chair creaks under my movement. “Hayes asked for me?”
“Exactly,” Collins confirms impatiently.
“He didn’t want some random sports reporter kissing Miller’s ass.
He wanted our toughest investigative journalist. He told me on the phone that he expects ruthless reporting before he can finally reassure his investors.
Hayes wants you to dig up the skeletons. He’s counting on your credibility.”
My mind snaps into high alert. I end the call with a brief cliché, set the phone down by the coffee machine, and stare at the black screen.
Why would an investor who supposedly needs a clean image for his business partner explicitly insist on a journalist known for her merciless exposés? Then it makes sense.
He doesn't want to clear Cayden's name at all. He wants a serious, uncorrupt source to dig up the scandal to give him official grounds to bail. Hayes is building his own alibi.
I flip the laptop back open and log into the city building archives via press access. Evelyn Rice gave me the first hint, but I’m missing the connecting puzzle pieces. I need hard facts before I confront Cayden.
I pull up the zoning plans for the old port district.
The site of the new stadium flashes as a blue marker on the digital map.
I read through the city council minutes.
The entire area is under the strictest environmental protection regulations.
No private developer has been allowed to even stick a shovel in the ground there for the last ten years.
How did Cayden get this building permit in the first place?
I scroll through the pages of PDF documents and find the deciding paragraph.
The city of Montreal made a one-time exception because the public interest in the Royals is gargantuan.
The conditions for the permit, however, were extremely high.
Cayden’s conglomerate legally committed to financing massive compensatory conservation areas in the surrounding region and to operating the stadium as a major ecological flagship project.
The deal is tied to Cayden’s name and his financial commitments. If Cayden is disgraced by a massive scandal and the project falls through, this special exception expires.
I open a new tab and check the land registry for the surrounding parcels. Who buys industrial land in a port district where you’re technically not allowed to build?
One name appears repeatedly: Icarus Holdings LLC. I run the company through financial regulatory databases. I dig through countless commercial register numbers, nested subsidiaries, and anonymous board minutes. My index finger taps nervously on the table edge.
It takes a full half-hour to pierce the thick layer of bureaucratic fog.
The parent company of Icarus Holdings is an investment firm from Nevada specializing in large-scale entertainment complexes. Not sports teams. Not conservation projects.
My breath hitches.
I haven’t captured the whole picture yet, but the outlines of this conspiracy are sharpening terrifyingly on my monitor.
Hayes is using Cayden’s sporting prestige and his millions to bypass the insurmountable hurdles in the city council.
He’s getting Cayden to pay for the compensation land and drive up the property values.
Once the contracts are signed, he only needs a spark to blow Cayden’s reputation sky-high.
And Eric Davis is providing that spark. Or, in the worst case, I’m providing it with my article in the Chronicle, because that’s exactly why Hayes pushed me onto the field.
I grab my pen and scribble the company names on my notepad. The chain of evidence is still full of holes. I need to find out exactly how Hayes plans to use these parcels after Cayden’s potential ruin and whether bribes actually flowed to the city council to put Icarus Holdings in position.
My son’s loud laughter jerks me out of my feverish thoughts.
The door swings open, and Parker sprints into the hallway, his cheeks bright red from the cold air in the rink. Cayden follows him with measured steps, sticks balanced casually over his shoulder. He brushes a wet strand of hair from his forehead and gives me a questioning look.
I snap the laptop shut and slide the notepad under an unread newspaper.
“You’re back early,” I remark.
“We need to shower,” Parker announces, out of breath, kicking off his shoes. “You said so yourself. And the old man here needs to wash his defeat out of his clothes!”
“Careful, sport. Just because you won one-on-one once doesn’t make you the MVP yet,” Cayden grins, leaning the sticks against the wall. He walks over to the kitchen island, bracing himself with both hands, and scans my face. “Everything okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“Just the usual headache from Collins,” I dodge, sliding off the high barstool. I can’t tell him anything now. “What time is it?”
Cayden checks his watch. “Just after one. My parents will be at the door in two hours, tops. Helena already set the table in the conservatory.”
I nod and brush past him, briefly touching his forearm. The contact grounds my racing pulse for a split second. “Then I’ll go get changed. We want to show your family our best side, don’t we?”