Chapter 4 #2
James nods so fast I’m worried his head might come loose.
He tugs at his shirt collar. “So… as you know, the leak of Mr. Ashborne buying the Stormhawks has caused a lot of unrest this week. We’d hoped to avoid releasing the information until the spring—during the offseason—when things were calmer and we could’ve controlled the story.
The plan was for you to sit down for a couple of interviews with the morning shows, plus some profile pieces and photo ops. To show you’re not…”
“The devil?” I offer, swiping to the meme of my face with digitally added horns and glowing red eyes—the one that’s racked up a few hundred thousand shares already. “This one’s my favorite. Really captures my good side.”
A choked noise escapes James. Donny looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
It isn’t funny. All our necks are on the line, and yet I fight a smile too, because there’s a part of me that wonders if a certain fiery-as-hell bartender is behind some of this, considering the devil meme surfaced on the Red Zone on Tuesday.
James offers a weak smile. “Yes. Some of the fan reaction has been… intense. And unfortunately, the statement Mr. Hubert released after the leak didn’t go quite as planned.”
“That’s an understatement.” Donny sighs, no longer amused.
I can’t blame him. Fans might not trust me, but we’d hoped their trust in the Huberts would be enough. Instead, Donny’s statement, attempting to reassure Denver that I’m actually a decent guy, only made things worse. It made them suspect that the Huberts are supporting whatever plans I have.
They haven’t got their own memes or protest signs yet, but the comments on social media are clear. Donny and his family need to lie low.
Which means I’m on my own.
“Based on the numbers of people out there this morning,” I say, “there’s no sign of these protests dying down.”
“I’m already fielding calls from the sponsors,” Donny says. “They’re worried. A boycott from fans could easily become a boycott of their products. We need to turn this around before contracts with sponsors are renewed after the playoffs.”
James straightens, finding a sliver of confidence now the worst has been said out loud. “The Ashborne Holdings reputation seems to be our biggest issue right now,” he says. “We still believe another statement to clarify—”
“And I keep telling you, another statement won’t help.
” I sigh. “Let me explain how Ashborne Holdings works, James. They don’t knock on the doors of struggling businesses and announce who they are and their plans to ultimately destroy them.
They use shell companies. They call themselves different names.
They’re sneaky. They promise investment and support.
The first cuts are wrapped up in words like ‘strategic decisions’ and ‘streamlining.’ Then they bring in the wrecking balls. ”
The guilt hits like a gut punch even after all these years.
Enough that, for a moment, I feel it might eat me alive.
I think of the family standing, surrounded by their possessions, as a foreclosure sign is hammered to their front door.
I was eight years old, and my father took me with him to show me his latest acquisition.
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the heartbreak in that mother’s eyes.
“You’re not your father,” Donny says with a fierceness that makes me love him all the more. “Your company is Grayson Global. You’re nothing to do with Ashborne Holdings.”
“Except that’s not true, is it? Because I still have a board seat on Ashborne Holdings, and, either way, they won’t believe us if I try to tell them outright that I’m here to help.”
I’ve been fighting the Ashborne Holdings shadow my entire life.
My father’s company is the one behind the boarded-up storefronts and gutted communities, not mine.
But people rarely make the distinction. Everyone assumes he’s quietly bankrolling me, pulling the strings, grooming me to take over his legacy.
The reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Not after everything he’s done.
After college, I did what was expected and joined my father at Ashborne Holdings, planning to bring change from within.
It didn’t take me long to see that Charles Ashborne only did things one way, and that way was his.
So I left and got as far away from my father’s shadow as I could.
Something he still hasn’t forgiven me for.
I spent most of my twenties building skyscrapers in Dubai, luxury eco-cities in Singapore, and private resort communities in South America.
Projects where beauty and function mattered.
Where the world didn’t have to look like a battleground between power and greed.
Where innovation didn’t cost someone their livelihood or their home.
By the time I was twenty-seven, Grayson Global had turned over its first billion.
By twenty-nine, I’d started to feel like I’d finally broken free from the Ashborne legacy and carved one of my own.
Then my father stooped lower than I ever thought possible.
I found myself back in New York, still running Grayson Global, but also taking my board seat at Ashborne Holdings so I could keep a close eye on my father’s activities.
I’ve spent the last five years in New York, buying run-down neighborhoods and redeveloping them for the people who actually live there.
Quietly creating affordable housing, parks, and community spaces.
It doesn’t feel enough to undo all the hurt and destruction my father has caused.
But none of it matters here, because Denver believes Grayson Global is a shell company of Ashborne Holdings, and I’m my father’s puppet.
I sigh. “Release the statement, but on its own, it won’t be enough,” I reply. Like bringing scaffolding to a building that’s already been demolished. There’s nothing left to stabilize. The whole damn structure is rubble.
Donny leans forward, elbows on the table.
“A statement might not cut it, but we need to do something. If public outrage keeps climbing, we’re going into next season with no sponsors, no money, and no fans.
And that’s only if we can keep winning for a few more weeks and hang on in the playoff rounds.
If we get knocked out in the wildcard round on Saturday, that outrage is going next level on our asses. ”
“Great,” I mutter. “What are the chances the team stays in the playoffs? And please remember, I don’t know a damn thing about football.”
Donny clutches his chest. “I’m hurt, man. How long have we known each other? Surely, you’ve absorbed something in that time?”
I shoot him a look and he snorts.
“Fine,” he says. “Here’s the deal. In each conference, the top seven teams make the playoffs.
It’s single elimination—lose once and you’re out.
There are three rounds: the wild card round, the divisional round, and the championship.
The two teams left standing go to the Super Bowl.
” He pauses, then adds, “The Stormhawks barely scraped in as the seventh seed. We’re dead last. And we start by playing one of the best teams. The top seed gets a bye, which means they skip the first round and automatically move on to the second.
So we’re up against the second seed, the Buffalo Warbears. ”
“The worst plays the best?” I frown. “Meaning our first game is practically unwinnable. So worst case, I have until next Saturday—eight days—to win the hearts of every fan in Denver. Best case, by some miracle, the Stormhawks keep winning, and I have until the Super Bowl in four weeks.” Either way, it’s not enough time. “Why don’t you just say we’re fucked?”
Donny shoots me a look. “We’re definitely fucked. But the Stormhawks have heart. When they show up, they really show up.”
James lifts a hopeful finger. “Maybe we could try some store openings? Or… uh… serving food at a homeless shelter? Photo ops with puppies?”
I stare at him, deadpan. “If glossy photo ops could fix the Ashborne name, my father would’ve done it already. Get the draft statement written and come up with a plan that doesn’t involve me kissing babies, flipping pancakes, or adopting a puppy. Email it to me by the end of the day.”
James practically salutes me, then trips over his own feet in his rush to escape the room.
When it’s just the two of us, I turn to Donny. “What do you know about Felicity Moore?”
Donny shrugs. “Never heard of her.”
“She runs The Hay Barn and—”
“And the Red Zone fan page,” he cuts in. “You mean Flic. I know of her more than I know her. We’ve met a handful of times at some of the fan events, and she’s practically family to the Sullivans. Why are you asking?”
The seed of an idea that started at the weekend, and had me going to The Hay Barn after Sunday’s win, takes root again. “She’s popular with the fans?” I ask, not bothering to answer Donny’s question.
Donny laughs on an exhale. “That’s an understatement.
The fans love her. She’s a die-hard fan with a huge following.
She knows everything there is to know about the game plays and the players.
Hell, even I check her socials for insights when I want to understand why we got our asses handed to us on the field.
With Jake and Chase Sullivan, and Mama Sullivan, feeding her information, and the gossip she hears at her bar, she’s often the first to know news before it breaks.
And she’s a regular on fans podcasts, too. ”
I feel Donny studying me before he starts shaking his head.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” he says. “Flic is fierce and she’s loyal to the Stormhawks. You need to stay well away from her.”
“She could help us.”