Chapter 36
CAYDEN
Griffin picks up on the third ring.
“Cayden,” he answers, his voice far too alert for this hour. “I bet you’re not calling to wish me sweet dreams.”
“We’ve got a problem, Griff,” I blurt out. “Hayes is playing a filthy game. Do you still have the preliminary contracts for the stadium deal?”
“On the secured server. What exactly am I looking for?”
Jade is sitting on the sofa, knees pulled up, fingers digging into her notepad.
“An exit clause. Hayes is paying Eric Davis. The ex-national coach. We think he’s waiting for my signature and then he’ll leak the old Banff story to the press.
Hayes needs a legal lever to pull his investors out once my reputation hits the floor.
He’s betting on me being unable to handle the construction bills and going bust.”
Griffin whistles through his teeth. “Hostile takeover via the moral high ground. Like a movie. I’ll get back to you in an hour.”
The line goes dead. I toss the phone onto the table. Sixty minutes can feel like a lifetime.
The old grandfather clock on the wall ticks in time with my pulse. I gulp down a glass of water, slam it back onto the tray, and pace between the bookshelf and the fireplace.
The stakes of this deal are tangible, clinging to the library walls. If Hayes wins, I don't just lose money. I lose the Royals. I lose the foundation for Parker. For this family I didn't even know I had until a few hours ago.
After what feels like an eternity, my phone vibrates. I hit the speaker button.
“Griffin?” I ask, leaning on the tabletop. Jade immediately slides to the edge of the sofa.
“Compliments to your journalist,” the voice rasps from the speaker. The sound of typing accompanies his words. “It all makes sense. Hayes engineered this masterfully.”
I tighten my jaw. “Meaning?”
“The contracts themselves are airtight and drafted in your favor. He gave you all the financial security. But he stretched a standard clause in the appendix until it’s unrecognizable. The ‘Morality Clause.’”
Jade leans forward. “What does it say?”
“As soon as Cayden, as the figurehead, endangers the public integrity of the project through gross misconduct, the lead investors get a special right of termination,” Griffin reads.
“It’s a catch-all. Usually, that’s for tax evasion or murder.
Here, a massive media smear campaign is enough.
If Davis stands up and claims you slept with his wife and blackmailed the federation back then, the house burns down.
Hayes just has to claim his investors are getting cold feet.
He pulls the cord. You’re left sitting on the construction costs. ”
I close my eyes. This guy led me down the red carpet for months just to pull the floor out from under me at the end.
“But the ecological requirements?” Jade interjects, tapping her pen. “Cayden only has the permit because of the conservation land. If Hayes builds casinos there, he still has to pay for that land. That eats his profits.”
Griffin laughs joylessly. “He pays that out of petty cash. Casinos at prime waterfront locations bring in ten times what a stadium does. The city will give him the permit retroactively if he takes over the compensation areas and greases a few city councilors. He sells himself as the savior of a construction ruin. No one asks about Cayden after that.”
The realization hits me like a punch to the ribs. For years, I played the scapegoat for Eric Davis. I swallowed the guilt to protect his ex-wife. And now he’s building my coffin out of that old lie.
“We go public,” I decide. “Jade leaks the evidence of the money flow to Davis tomorrow morning. We dismantle Hayes in front of his own board.”
“Forget it,” Griffin cuts in. “On the legal path, he bleeds you dry before you see a courtroom from the outside. He has an army of lawyers. He’ll declare the money to Davis as a ‘consultancy fee for sports facility analysis,’ sue Jade for libel, and take you down anyway. You can't beat this guy with decency.”
“Then what?” I ask, pressing my nails into my palms. “I’m not putting my name on this death warrant.”
“If you don't sign, he drags you to court for breach of the preliminary agreements,” Griffin thinks aloud.
“So?”
“We fight fire with fire. We need evidence so devastating that he leaves the field voluntarily. We need his bribes to the city council. His shell companies. Everything he’s buried in the dirt.”
Jade shrugs. “Who knows if that evidence even exists? Papers like that aren't on public servers. Financial regulators would take months for a web like that.”
Griffin exhales loudly. He weighs his next words. “We’re not going through the financial authorities. We need Vaughn.”
I straighten up. My gaze meets Jade’s; she tilts her head, a silent question on her face. I just raise my hand to hold her back.
Vaughn. The fifth member of the Chester Street Society.
The guy we never talk about. He grins in our old college photos, he sat at the bars with us, but he leaves no real tracks.
No profiles. No tax ID. Vaughn is a ghost made of ones and zeros.
A hacker who cracks government networks for breakfast. He gets information that technically doesn't exist.
I haven't seen him in three years. You don't call Vaughn for a favor. Whoever brings him into play leaves legal ground. There’s no turning back after that.
“Are you sure?” I ask the phone.
“Hayes is playing dirty,” Griffin answers pragmatically. “You want to keep your empire? Then you have to get into the mud.”
I take a deep breath. I look at Jade. She risked everything to show me this trap. She risked her entire career. I’m not flinching now.
“Get him on board,” I decide.
“I’ll send him an encrypted message. He’ll reach out. Don't make a mistake, Cayden. Play the clueless ex-pro tomorrow. Let Hayes believe he’s winning.”
“Understood.”
I hang up. I walk around the desk and sink onto the sofa next to Jade. She slides to my side immediately. Her shoulder presses warmly against mine.
“Who is Vaughn?” she asks quietly.