Chapter Nineteen Billie Hartley #3
Billie stopped laughing immediately.
Evie grinned. “Too late. Joy witnessed.”
“Go sort wristbands.”
“With pleasure, Your Majesty.”
“Do not call me that.”
“Never publicly.”
By 5 p.m., Billie almost believed they might get through the day without another major hit.
Amateur mistake.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Her stomach dropped.
But the message was not from Ryan.
UNKNOWN: This is Ryan’s sister, Amelia. I know you have no reason to trust me. He’s spiralling. He told someone he still has copies of old files from the rink. I don’t know what. I’m sorry. He won’t listen to Graham. Please be careful Friday.
Billie read it once.
Then again.
Her hands went cold.
Mason stepped off the ice near the gate, saw her face, and came straight over.
“What happened?”
She looked at him.
Then toward the rink.
Then back at the message.
“Ryan has old files,” she said.
Mason’s jaw tightened. “What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
Harper arrived seconds later, because apparently dread had a signal. Billie showed her the text.
Harper’s face went pale. “Old staff files? Financial files? Photos?”
“Could be anything.”
Mark joined them, expression grim. “We had a shared drive before the system migration.”
Billie turned slowly. “What?”
He swallowed. “Old event files, sponsor folders, staffing docs, some scanned historical materials. Access was messy before we locked it down.”
“Messed how?”
Mark looked pained. “Former staff could have downloaded things.”
Billie closed her eyes.
One.
Two.
Three.
She opened them.
“Meeting room.”
Mason said, “Billie.”
She looked at him.
His eyes were steady.
“We’ll handle it.”
There was that we again.
This time, she let it stand.
For now.
They gathered the core team and mapped what Ryan might have: event files, old invoices, archived photos, outdated staff schedules, maybe contact lists, maybe scanned personal documents attached to sponsorship or loan files if someone had been careless years ago.
Every possibility felt like a door left open.
Billie hated open doors.
Harper began a file audit. Mark called the old IT contractor.
Gabe contacted a media attorney he knew in Sydney, which was both useful and annoying.
Sophie updated security details. Alby stationed himself near the archive corridor.
Nate and Theo were placed in charge of keeping players calm and offline.
Evie sat beside Billie with a notebook and did not leave.
At 6:14, Harper found the old shared drive archive.
At 6:27, the IT contractor confirmed that Ryan’s login had been deactivated after termination, but could not confirm whether he had downloaded files before that.
At 6:39, Amelia texted again.
AMELIA: He keeps talking about “the old agreement.” Does that mean anything?
Billie stared at the words.
The old agreement.
Mark went very still.
Mason noticed instantly. “What agreement?”
Billie looked at Mark.
Mark looked at the table.
And there it was.
Another shadow.
Billie’s voice came out calm, because fury had become cold enough to function.
“Mark.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “It was before your father died.”
Mason’s gaze moved to Billie.
Her pulse went hollow.
“What was before Dad died?”
Mark swallowed.
“Tom and Graham discussed a possible sale of a minority stake in Harbour Ice,” he said. “To Vale.”
The room went silent.
Billie stared at him.
Her father.
Graham.
A possible sale.
No.
She would have known.
Wouldn’t she?
Mark continued quickly. “It never happened. Tom backed out. He said the rink couldn’t owe its soul to one sponsor.”
Billie’s throat closed.
That sounded like Dad.
Too much like Dad.
“Why don’t I know this?” she asked.
Mark’s face tightened. “Because after he got sick, he asked me not to burden you unless it became real.”
The words hit like the rink had shifted under her feet.
Not burden you.
Everyone.
Always.
Protecting her by excluding her from the thing she had been carrying ever since.
Mason stepped closer.
Not touching.
Beside.
Billie gripped the table.
Gabe’s voice was careful. “If Ryan has that old agreement, he could make it look like Graham has a hidden claim on the rink.”
Harper whispered, “Or like the fundraiser is connected to a takeover.”
Billie looked at the whiteboard.
Junior Gear Fund.
Sponsor Match.
Safety.
No Ryan.
Protect the rink.
The rink her father had chosen not to sell.
The rink Ryan now wanted to make look bought.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
This time, a photo came through.
A grainy image of an old document.
Title visible at the top:
DRAFT INVESTMENT AGREEMENT Harbour Ice Centre and Vale Community Partners
Under it, Ryan’s text:
Wonder what the Ice Queen will say when everyone finds out Vale was always buying the throne.
Billie’s hand tightened around the phone.
Mason saw the message.
So did Harper.
So did Mark.
For one second, the room went silent.
Then Billie stood.
No trembling now.
No crack.
No fear.
Just ice over steel.
“He wants a throne story?” she said.
Her voice was quiet.
Lethal.
“Fine. Tomorrow, we tell Sydney exactly why my father refused one.”